Box of Chances
by WackyGoofball
Summary: Life is about the choices we make. Dean and Sam have to learn the very hard way just how even one choice can change everything. Sam is going through a drastic transformation Dean is afraid of, and a lot of it is due to John. How will the brothers deal with their life turned upside-down? Will Dean be able to save his Sammy or is he lost already? Read to find out!
1. Chapter 1

**Box of Chances**

Author's Note: For the record, this story has an asynchronic time frame. My idea was to reveal more and more through those kinds of flashbacks and foreshadowing - and to give it a nice twist in some way. The time count goes on from the day of Sam's graduation, since that marks the fallout. So, for example, "Month 4" will be four months after graduation. Furthermore, I don't regard John in 'Supernatural' as an awful father, so this is clearly AU, but I always found it striking to see just how Sam's and Dean's life would have been different with John, well, as more of a bastard than a great parent. So, to all John-Fans, I'm with you. Regard my John as a kind of catalyst to put Sam's and Dean's relationship in the center of attention. I don't own any of the characters of this wonderful show, sadly, neither any trademarks whatsoever. All rights reserved.

As a non-native, I hope you forgive me some grammatical and... more general errors.

This is my first piece of fanfiction published ever, so please, be gentle with me. ;)

Summary: Life is about the choices we make. Dean and Sam learn the very hard way just how even one choice can change everything. Sam is going through a drastic transformation that Dean is afraid of, and a lot of it is due to John. How will the brothers deal with their life turned upside-down? Will Dean be able to save his Sammy or is he lost already? Read to find out! ;)

_**Week 2**_

"Sam, are you coming, or what?"

"On my way, on my way. No need to be hustling, Dean, really."

"Well, dad said we should be outside town by now, and guess what? We are still in the motel room," the older brother argues with his fiery green eyes as he shoulders his duffel. Sam grabs his jacket from the hook and catches up with the older man. With that they close the door, return the keys to the ugly receptionist, and then leave for the black beauty, a wonderful 1967 Chevrolet Impala, the one place they actually call home. They pack their stuff into the trunk and start down the road.

"I honestly expected a better retort to the very last, Sam," Dean says jokingly, even if there lies more than that within this statement. Since Sam graduated from High School, the teen turned somewhat non-talkative. And that is something truly against Sam's usual nature. The older brother can still recall more than vividly the evenings they spent together, alone at home, while their dad was yet on another hunt, and Sam filled the empty space with hours of conversation in which he simply told Dean everything he knew and made the older forget about the claimed – but actually not – broken TV or the little hole that their father left with leaving another time – with just a note on the table, next to a stash of money for the next couple of days. And why had Dean claimed the TV to be broken? Just to hear Sam talking about everything and nothing. Sam's childish, innocent, bubbly personality and his glistering eyes that seemed to suck in the entire world if given the chance had always fascinated the older brother, but since that day… that Sam suddenly seemed so far away. And, even if Dean would never admit, he misses that boy, _a lot_, actually.

"Well, we _were_ late and dad is going to bitch anyways," Sam says with a shrug.

"Yeah, well, he'll survive that. I mean, I know… his biological clock is ticking and you can clearly see it in his face… but, you know, it's not gonna kill him to wait for five minutes," Dean tries to reassure his brother. Sam just snorts at that, leaning back in his seat.

"And that is why _you_ were so pushy? Because it didn't matter?" the younger man retorts with a somewhat cocky grin on his face.

"I was just joking around, geez. No reason to take it seriously, Sammy," Dean sighs.

"We should just get on the next hunt," Sam exhales, his eyes drifting off to the window.

"Didn't think I'd hear that coming from your mouth, Sam. You know, couple of weeks ago you would have whined all the way from here to Minnesota coz we were taking that damned hunt!" Dean laughs drily. Yeah, usually Sam would have been all moody over this, would have argued about him being busy with other stuff, that the hunts weren't as important, but now… now Sam says nothing when they get the next hunt. He doesn't argue much anyways, not even about the showers. Before, he and Dean always started cat-fights over the question of who gets first shower, but now Sam always lets Dean have it first. Dean tried many times to revive those lovely arguments, by pushing Sam into wanting the first, using up all the hot water, _everything_, but Sam just shrugged. He shrugged a lot lately. The worst was that Dean's pranks and jokes had no impact on Sam anymore. When he used up all the hot water, Dean waited for a shriek coming from the bathroom, but he could only hear the water running, for a pretty long time, because Dean, a little sensitive about this himself, hates it to take cold showers, and if he really has to, he makes it as short as he possibly can, but Sam stayed even longer under there than Dean did, and Dean was using up all the hot water, which took quite some time. And when Sam came out, his face gave nothing away, no anger, not the slightest bit of a cocky expression, no laughter, nothing, it was as if Sam didn't even realize the water was ice cold, as if he actually chose it to be that way, and even when Dean tried to push him into being angry at him for exactly that reason… Sam just said it wasn't that bad and that Dean can have all the hot water he wants.

"Well, now school's over, right? So what other to focus on, huh?" Sam shrugs another time. Dean really starts to hate it when Sam shrugs that much.

"Dunno, just thought you'd maintain that," Dean sighs. And at some point he actually _wished_ that Sam maintained that part of his personality because that is another essential part of Sam, his Sammy.

"Was probably a phase, dude," Sam shrugs another time and Dean is that close to slap him in the neck for always shrugging.

"And what if that was a phase just now?" Dean asks with half a smirk on his lips.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam frowns.

"Well, what if you are in a phase just now and your actual personality is all about being bitchy?" Dean questions with a smirk, even if the matter itself is serious, at least it is to him.

"Then I don't want my personality to be that way. I'm done playing stupid. People can change, you know?" Sam says, glancing out of the window again.

"But do you _wanna_ change?" Dean asks with a rather serious tone in his voice.

"Dude, what's gotten into you? Be happy that I give up on being the bitchy little brother, alright? And if it makes you happy, YES, I am _thrilled_ about the change. I want it to be that way, period," the younger teen snaps to Dean's surprise. Winchesters are born liars, but Dean can still read his brother the best, and right now that was a lie, well, not only, but something Sam wants to make himself believe, quite desperately, even if his entire system is fighting it like a virus. Yeah, he tries to convince himself to believe in that, with all his might.

"What's wrong, Sam? You can tell me," Dean says, now in a softer voice.

"There's nothing wrong with me, really, geez. What are you always thinking, huh? I'm just… adjusting to full-time hunting and everything. You know, since school's out I got a lot more spare time and I have to think of ways of how to fill them. You said yourself, I am finally free now, Dean," Sam says, looking a little more credible this time. He is meeting Dean's gaze with his huge hazels, and if Dean didn't know better, he would say that they look watery in some way, sad, but he tries to push these feelings aside because… because… yeah, well _why_, actually? Dean doesn't know himself. He spent so much time convincing Sam of stopping to bitch about everything and nothing, butt-heading with their dad about the hunts, and regard the job as the second important in life, right after the family. And his dad had prayed for the very same thing, with a firm grip. And now _Dean_ is the one who demands from Sam to actually not be what he was asked to be? _Yeah_, it sounds ridiculous, but… truth to be told, Dean, at some point, actually _appreciated_ Sam's rebellious side because he verbalized on several occasions what Dean was feeling deep inside, too. Not that he had ever told the younger sibling, but Sam, when he told John, after spending weeks away on a hunt, leaving them to themselves at such a young age, he didn't care enough for his – so said – priority in life and instead put the hunts in front of the family, that is when Sam's stubbornness really impressed Dean, made him proud, but now there are no longer these fights, there are no arguments, John always gets his way, unless Dean, to his very own surprise, starts to argue about the hunt or the approach.

"Dean?" a far off voice inside his head brings Dean back to the Impala, Sam glancing at him with a deep frown.

"What?" asks Dean, still getting his mind set back to the Impala and his brother next to him.

"I asked why you didn't want to get out of the car. Dad's waiting. You alright?" he asks, now with a shimmer of brotherly concern present in Sam's features.

"Yeah, yeah, was just… thinking…" Dean says. Sam gives a faint nod, not fully convinces because he is the one to read Dean the very best, but gives Dean credit for the fact that the hunt was gruff and that he is perhaps a little lost in thoughts about the events.

"Well, don't break your head while you're at it," Sam smirks, looking a little more like the former Sammy Dean starts to miss with every day passing. Sam opens the door and gets out to walk over to their father, who is leaning against his truck. They exchange a few words, and that is when Dean realizes for the very first time that he is right with what he has in mind. Now he gets Sam finally from the right angle to really _see_ him. John smirks at something, Sam responds weakly, before he turns his head away, his brown curls covering his eyes, Sam bites his lip and his features sag, saddened, defeated. And then, after a moment, Sam puts on a grin again and says something else to John, as if nothing ever happened. And that is why Dean is really shocked. Sam is putting on a masquerade, in front of his family, for what reason? He isn't entirely sure, but he has to find out. Dean gets out of the car and trots over to the others.

"Took you long enough there, son," John grumbles underneath his breath.

"Yeah, sorry, I was…" Dean responds weakly, uncomfortably shifting his weight from right to left leg.

"… lost in thoughts about our next gig because he is totally itching to get to work," Sam completes with a genuine smile.

"Well, that's good to hear, Dean. Okay, we'll drive to Minnesota now. Caleb says that Wendigo is short before going wild. We gotta take that thing out before it does further harm," John says in his gruff tone.

"Yeah, as always. Well, we can be by the borders tonight, and then we can do the rest of the ride morrow," Dean shrugs.

"Yeah, even if I'd like to speed things up, but we need to research before anyways, so we'll stay for the night in a nearby motel, like you said," John agrees.

"No, not necessarily, uhm… here!" Sam interrupts as he reveals a blue-ish paper folder, every paper neatly stashed inside, that you can see even with it still being closed. He hands it to the equally surprised John as he once glances at his youngest and then at his oldest, who has a deep frown on his face. John opens the folder to find all necessary information in it: printed articles from the internet with marks all over, neatly cut out newspaper pages, notes, maps with encircled locations, probably the most likeable areas for the Wendigo, even photographs of each victim and a short background are in the folder. Dean and John are just bound to stare at the work.

"Something wrong with you two? I mean, if it isn't good enough, we can still gather information once we get there, but you don't have to give me the _silent treatment_, you know?" Sam frowns at the two older men, who are finally snapping out of the stiffness, and setting into motion.

"No, Sam, we were just… surprised, especially me, since I was with you the whole time and I didn't realize you doing such thorough research. We were pretty busy with our own case anyways," Dean says, still glancing at the folder.

"Well, I told you I got more spare time now. I gotta fill it with something useful," Sam explains.

"Yeah, but you were busy with our job. We didn't have spare time _at all_," Dean argues.

"Night's long, dude. And anyways, it's not the matter when I did it, but that I did it. So is this useful, dad?" Sam shrugs as he turns his gaze back to his father.

"It is, son… so let's try to get to the town in one day and then find ourselves a motel there," John explains, before taking the folder and putting it into his truck.

"But I thought we wanted to…" Dean intervenes, but he is interrupted by John's strong voice.

"I said that we stay close to border if we didn't have to do research, but in fact we don't have to, so we'll try to cover as much distance as we can manage. Now get in the car. We gotta get going," John orders, leaving Dean without another argument. Usually he is good at shooting back responses, but… with his dad, he always had trouble talking back, in contrast to Sam. And probably that's also reason why Dean appreciated Sam's rebellious side deep inside. Sam did what he couldn't, but now… now there is no one to verbalize his deep down thoughts for him anymore. Dean has to do it himself, and he has the feeling he actually sucks at this really bad.

Suddenly Dean feels a grip on his jacket and realizes it is Sam who is pulling him away, back to the car. Dean follows after another stare. Soon they are back in the car and just as fast they are driving down the roads to Minnesota.

"So what the hell, Sam?" Dean breaks out.

"What the hell _what_, Dean?" Sam shoots back.

"Don't think I didn't catch the part about _nights being long_ and everything, which implies that you did the research in the middle of the night, what would explain how it comes you could do so much research without my realization," Dean argues in a loud voice.

"Well, I think it's kinda _my_ business how I want to spend my nights, right? I don't argue about you banging every bar maid you can find, even if she is missing her front row of teeth," shoots Sam back.

"That's not the topic and she just missed one tooth and she had a replacement that needed to be fixed… _but anyways_, you are supposed sleep during the nights, especially when we are on the gigs. You need your sleep, dude!" Dean retorts, eyes planted on the younger man.

"I couldn't, so I spent my time otherwise, so what?" Sam shrugs and Dean is really just an inch away from smacking Sam for that bloody shrugging all the time.

"And why couldn't you sleep, Sam?" Dean asks, a deep growl in his throat.

"Just had a lot on mind, alright?" Sam shoots back.

"Sam, really, what's the matter with you? Since school's out… you're… not yourself," Dean exhales. He didn't want to say that out loud, but something is wrong, obviously, and Dean always wants to fix things, actually that's one of his main purposes in life.

"I _am_ myself. I am not possessed. Or if you don't believe me, hand me the flask of holy water. I'll take a sip just to prove you otherwise," Sam says, totally indifferently.

"I believe you that you're not possessed. Sam, you are simply… so… everything you didn't use to be before," Dean sighs.

"Maybe I'm just going for a make-over, Dean," Sam exhales through pursed lips.

"Meaning what exactly?" the older man frowns.

"Meaning that I, _perhaps_, wanna handle things differently from now on, be someone else? Try out something new? Is that forbidden, or what?" Sam asks with an angry face.

"It's not _forbidden_. I am just… worried, you know?" Dean explains with honesty in the voice.

"Well, then don't be. There's nothing you need to worry about. Everything is perfectly fine. Everything is awesome, terrific. We're all together, perfect. We are on a hunt, which is just as jolly. What else could I wish for, huh?" the younger man curses with venom in his voice.

"Sam… I…" – Dean is simply speechless. He didn't expect such an outburst from his younger brother, but now that it is there. It actually hits him pretty hard.

"Just forget it, Dean. It's nothing, really. I'm still me, deep inside. I'm your brother, nothing is going to change about that, ever, I promise," Sam then says in a rather soft voice, in the manner he used to say things when Sam was still Sammy to Dean. The older hunter gulps once as the heavy lump in his throat settles in.

"Of course we are brothers, Sammy… but I… you're simply different from before…," Dean sighs.

"I'm going for a make-over, Dean, that means I change," Sam explains calmly.

"But maybe I don't want you to change!" Dean exclaims, but Sam's eyes seem indifferent to that reaction.

"I don't wanna argue with you, alright? Can we leave that for later?" Sam then bargains.

"Okay, okay, but… we gotta talk about that sometime, Sam," Dean argues.

"But for now let's just… drive to the next gig, alright? I'm done talking, Dean," Sam whispers before he leans his head against the windows, eyes getting lost in the passing vast lands that lie ahead of them. Dean shakes his head, fixing on the road. That is not the Sam he used to know. That is a stranger in the seat next to him, and Dean wants nothing but the old Sammy back.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Week 3_**

"Hey, where are you going, Sam?"

"Off for a run," the younger man says briefly. It's been three months since Sam's graduation, and nothing really changed, for good anyways, if it didn't change for bad.

"Dad said we are going to train tonight. You shouldn't wear yourself out before we even get there," Dean argues, a little edge of worry in his voice. Sam is now constantly going for runs. He disappears for hours and comes back, sweat trickling from his curls, flushed cheeks, and a still indifferent expression on his face.

"Won't be long. I need the work-out. Somehow I gotta cover up for the fast food we are eating, dude," Sam laughs drily before turning to the door and making his leave.

And in fact Sam even stopped to argue about most of the foods, what he used to do more than often. Sam always was for the healthy foods, but he would only rarely get his way. Okay, when they were in a restaurant and could pick, Sam would still go with a healthy menu nevertheless, but he didn't lose a word about a greasy burger either. The only one to actually appreciate it is John of course. When he comes home and finds yet another folder in whatever color on the nightstand, with information for possible next gigs, he leans back in his chair as he settles down and skims through the pages with a soft grin on his face. Sam is getting a praise more often now, still not enough, so Dean thinks, but it means a lot for a man like John Winchester to actually praise someone. The father doesn't seem to care for the cause of Sam's sudden make-over, but is obviously happy about it. He even told Dean that Sam is finally getting where he is supposed to be. The older son said nothing to that because Dean is totally against Sam's changes. They are not for good, and that especially since he is no longer the little geek brother Dean loves so much. Of course, Sam is a really smart boy his age, always was, and that didn't change, but the curiosity vanished from his face when he now drowns himself in either studies or research for the hunts. That childish curiosity Dean loved so much, it simply disappeared. Sam looks… somber and sober when he does research now. Dean catches him doing it ever so often. The older brother spent nights pretending to sleep just to see Sam get up in all silence and starting on the research, hundreds of websites passing his eyes so fast that Dean is fully convinced his head would explode from the overflow of information. However, even if he realizes all those things, no one beside him really seems to care. Of course Sam is totally for this, he is the one doing it after all, and John… John probably couldn't be any happier that Sam is finally falling into line, without complaints, without talking back, without… without being Sammy anymore. And that is what is really bothering Dean. Their father doesn't even seem to realize that Sam is giving up on himself, only to become some sort of robot, and that John actually appreciates that his baby boy is shoved back into the minds of everyone to leave just an empty shell of a formerly happy and childishly giggling Sammy. But no matter how hard Dean tried to convince their father of the fact that something is off about the youngest family member, John just gave a snort and said that they should better be thankful for Sam's change. It would make him a better hunter and now there was finally peace at home, so John had said. Inside his mind, Dean just told himself to go with all the peace right to hell. Dean doesn't want the peace. He wants the little and big arguments back. He wants Sam's never-ending bitching back, the roll of his eyes, he wants to fight with Sam about first shower, everything.

Dean gets up from his bed. Suddenly he feels the urge to go after Sam, find out what he is doing all this time. Sure, Sam will run, but is he really doing only this the entire time? Dean is still having a hard time believing it. So he grabs an old baseball cap from John's duffel. He is pretty certain that Sam wouldn't recognize it as such because John never wears it. Dean only knows it is there because John used to wear it back when Mary was still alive and they were playing catch in the garden. The older teen shakes off the unpleasant feelings, puts on the cap and sunglasses, puts on a plain white shirt and jeans before he walks out the door. He can't take the Impala. Sam would recognize just the sound of the engine from miles away. So Dean actually has to catch up with Sam and then go on with interrogation. He gets on the road, knowing that Sam would turn right because Dean saw him running that way the other day, and Sam likes to run the same course, look if he has improved, at least he does now. Dean sets off and he has to admit after the first mile or two that he really needs a few more runs. Their dad let him do sparring and shooting for the most part lately, and no long running sessions. The older teen starts to feel the ache in the sides, which means he really has to get going on that. Sam is still not in sight, which means that the little sucker got faster again. Dean fumes for a little while before speeding up another time. It's a challenge now, for him anyways. He won't allow Sam to get away with being better in something Dean used to beat him at. After some time he finally catches sight of a figure in the distance. Dean runs up till the man is actually in sight and it turns out to be Sam. The older brother stops in his tracks and retreats to a nearby tree on the other side of the road. Thank God they got a forest running along the street. Otherwise Dean wouldn't have cover or would have had to hide in the roadside ditch, and that sucks, he knows.

He and Sam had to hide there for about three hours because of a bunch of witches that were after them after burning down their house. Who could have known that they would lose their father in the forest and had to hide in that muddy stinking pit for a felt eternity until their dad finally got them, telling he killed the bitches. They were still pretty much kids back then. Today the two know how to handle such things, but back then they didn't, and that meant they had to protect themselves, most importantly. Both boys were over with scratches and mud when John got them, because of stupid dead brushes with thorns and Sam actually had a couple of nasty cuts from a rusty barbwire that was in his back and he couldn't move because the bitches were so close they would have realized the noises. Dean, back then, was still utterly impressed that the young boy hadn't whined once because that must have hurt like hell.

Well, now Dean has a tree to cover him up and that is way better than the ditch. And he has perfect view on the younger man, who is doing what exactly? Oh yeah, kissing the pavement – pushups, as normal people call it – apparently with just one hand. He probably did a couple, but his posture is still tight, exactly the way it is supposed to be. Only Sam's rhythmic breathing lies above the heavy silence on that hot day. After some time Sam gets up, wipes the sweat off of his face, taking a few deep breaths, before he goes down another time. But this time he doesn't do pushups, no, instead his feet lift up high in the air, his long legs making a perfect line, only supported by his hands, handstand. It's not the usual standard, but certainly a good training for balance and strength. And Dean is visibly impressed at how long Sam can maintain the posture, even with the face as red as a tomato and sweat standing in his eyes like tears. After some time Sam finally allows himself a break and stands back up, shaking his now numb wrists. Sam is doing training, okay, but Dean had just told him that they were going to be doing the exact same thing once John gets back, and after that, so Dean knows, you want nothing but your bed and simply die. To do such exercise even before getting started, that's suicidal. He is snapped out of his thoughts, though, once Sam walks up to the forest himself. Dean thinks about running, but realizes Sam coming right back out with a – heavy – stub, about his height and carefully positions it. Then the younger sibling goes over to the ditch, swiftly jumps over and then takes out… yeah, a couple of knives. Dean didn't even see his brother taking them. And then, after making sure no one is on the road, of course Sam is always careful about such things, he throws the first knife all the way across the ditch and the road over to the stub. The knife misses the target only by a few inches and lands in the ground, the blade almost disappearing completely in the mud, which means Sam surely had some force within that throw. Impressive, that's all Dean can think of. However, he is startled when he hears Sam growling under his breath, gritting his teeth in frustration, before he puts the other knives to the ground and then… he runs over to the ditch, jumps, but this time he rather rolls over it, just to land solidly on the ground, rolling over his side, which surely hurt like hell. It's a maneuver you do when you are desperately trying to get away from the enemy. You do it, but you don't want to, especially not over old glass bottles, barbwire and whatever crap is down there if you miss your target by just a bit. However, Sam actually does it for a training. He gets up, shakes off most of the dust before walking up to the stub and retrieves the knife with a grim expression on his face. Dean would have been proud of himself for being that close on first try, but Sam is utterly angry at himself, seemingly. After that he jumps – normally – back over the ditch and starts anew. Sam misses the target two more times, always doing one hell of a killer roll over the ditch to get the knives back, but after that he hits the stub head-on, again and again and again. Once the boy is seemingly satisfied with his work, after a lot of throws, he jumps over the ditch a last time, walks up to the stub and gets out all the knives. He puts them safely aside and then he starts to kick and punch a tree, a rather rough method, since he has no protection for his skin on, no bandages or anything, and hitting a tree is not exactly a sandbag with nice smooth leather on it. However, Sam is a smart boy. He only kicks with the foot so that the shoes are still between his skin and the bark and when he punches, he is using the heel of the hand. It looks rather weird for an outsider to do that, but it's actually a position commonly used in Asian martial arts, so Dean knows. After that Sam is seemingly satisfied with his work and gathers his knife. Dean knows that he has to get going now, otherwise he'll be racing back to the motel, and that would be a little too suspicious. He has to be there before Sam, needs time to change, catch his breath, greet him, and then tackle the subject. So Dean starts to run for it, always looking behind him to be sure Sam doesn't catch up with him. Thankfully he comes in first, and still no Sam in sight. He changes quickly, even manages to get washed off to cover up for the sweaty smell on his skin, store dad's baseball cap back in his duffel, and sit back down on the bed. That is when Sam makes his appearance, sweating, taking deep breaths, and to Dean's very advantage, over with dust and even a few cuts. _Jackpot_!

"Hey," Sam says briefly before walking up the fridge to get a water bottle to sip some of it, not too much at a time. He is really good at controlling himself, Dean thinks at that moment. Others, or more, _he_, would have emptied the whole damn thing in one gulp after such a run and such a training.

"Hey, so how was the run?" Dean asks as casually as he can afford.

"Good, weather is nice and the road was empty," Sam says drily.

"And you sure you didn't have to jump into a ditch or something coz you got cuts all over and dust on your clothes, dude?" Dean shoots back. He expects somewhat shock on Sam's face, anything, but his mimic remains indifferent. Instead, the younger man opens the fridge another time, gets another bottle of water, and walks up to his bed. In the motion he throws the bottle over to Dean. Then Sam sits down on the mattress.

"Thought you needed some after the hustle back to the motel," Sam snorts, glancing Dean right in the eye for a moment. Dean is totally caught off guard at first. He was so sure Sam didn't see him. Realizing that Dean is not going to respond to what Sam just said the younger hunter just carries on.

"I'm a hunter just like you, Dean. You really think I suck that bad not to realize someone tailing me? Dude, I am not a rookie anymore. Of course I knew you were up behind that tree to my left. I knew you were following me since you walked up about half a mile behind me. No one was on that road and you can hear a fly farting. Of course I heard your gasping like you're about to pass out and the sound of the sneakers you like to wear for running when they make contact with the pavement. If that wasn't proof enough… you are still flushed like a girl on her first date… and your sneakers are out for one, you use them for running alone for two, and they have that red dirt underneath that you can only find near that area for three. So? Don't you wanna take a sip?" Sam retorts sourly. Dean surely didn't expect Sam to find out… that _fast_. He thought a few times that Sam might have realized someone around, but it sounds as if he knew all along.

"Okay, okay, I admit, I went after you, alright? That's not against the law," Dean says angrily. Sam chuckles softly as he gets out of his shoes.

"And we don't care for what is against the law anyways…," the younger man smirks.

"What I was trying to say… and I already said it: I am worried about you, Sam. You are changing and… you are not a bit like you used to be. You're being scary," Dean admits in all honesty. Usually he could get Sam that way. Sam is not so much into mind-games. With being straight-up honest you normally have better chances with the youngest Winchester because Sam's nature has always been a very genuine one, and that is probably not going to change, hopefully.

"Because I train more?" he asks with a somewhat frown.

"Because of _everything_. And sure as hell I don't like your methods at some point, Sam. Doing a killer roll over a freakin' _roadside ditch_ where you can surely get all kinds of diseases is not the way dad trains us," Dean says rather angrily.

"I need the training and I decide for myself. I am good at this and if I practice it, it isn't going to be a _killer roll_ anymore. It is helpful to be good and effective at that," Sam responds drily.

"But you did it as _punishment_," Dean retorts with a snort.

"Huh?" the younger man frowns.

"I know you did it to punish yourself, Sam. When you missed the target, you did the friggin' jump! You shouldn't punish yourself, dude! That's not good on your… mental health," Dean argues.

"I am not… anyways, dad lets me run extra-miles and everything, too. Nothing's wrong about that either, right?" Sam counters.

"That's different," Dean sighs.

"How? Why is that different from what I am doing? Really, can't you make up your mind? I am doing everything exactly according to schedule and still you're… you're the one to bitch over it! I don't get it, seriously, dude. What do you want, Dean? What do you want me to be like that you're finally done giving me shit over this? Huh?!" Sam shouts furiously, slowly rising from his seat.

"I… I don't want you to be like anything _I_ want. I want you to be the person _you_ want to be, Sam," Dean says with all the credibility he can gather. Sam glances at him for a moment, standing, staring at a spot only he can see.

"I want to be a _better_ me, no loser anymore, one who lives in the real world, in the here and now and doesn't always hang with the head in the clouds. I want to be… a hunter, like you, like dad… I want to be the hunter I am supposed to be, but… oh, forget it! I'll grab a shower now," the younger sibling whispers before turning to the bathroom and making his leave for yet another cold shower. Dean just sits on his bed, water bottle loosely in his hand. Dean never saw Sam that sad, that… _lost_. And he is pretty damn sure this is because of him and their dad. However, most importantly, Dean has to fix this. Sammy needs to return to this family. And the big brother is so going to make sure that they stay in a city next time, with no chance of jumping over roadside ditches.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Month 4_**

"Here's a possible next gig, Sir," says a sober looking Sam as he hands another folder to his dad, the… Dean lost count of the number of folders it has been up until then. It's been four months now, and Sam's… _condition_… at least that is how Dean regards it, got even worse. His kid brother is talking less and less and his newly discovered _freedom_ consists of hunts, research, training, eating, drinking, taking a leak, staying clean, then come hunts, research, and training again, oh yeah, and running, running longer distances every day, away from his family, so Dean fears sometimes, running and shrugging, _that's_ Sam's life now. When they are at a bar, then Sam regards this as part of the job just as well and starts to hustle pool right away, trying to raise money, even if Dean genuinely intended to simply have a beer with his brother to get both their minds off of the work for at least one night. That is the newly discovered freedom, _suck it_.

"Let me have a look…" John says mindfully while he skims through the papers, nodding with more than pleasure in his eyes upon another proof for Sam's newly discovered passion for hunting.

"Could be something for us… we'll look into it, I think," John confirms after a while of consideration.

"Good, thank you, Sir," Sam responds, turns around, and retreats to probably another research session.

"I thought we'd get off a couple of days, dad. You said we'd take a break after this one," Dean argues. He actually planned on another attack on Sam to finally get his Sammy back and that surely isn't going to work out when the Winchester family is on another hunt once again.

"Well, evil doesn't take breaks, Dean," the older man shoots back.

"But we took hunt after hunt for _months_ now. I really need a break, dad, just a few days, and I guess Sam needs, too. I am not saying for long, but just a couple of days, dad, c'mon, that can't harm," the older hunter bargains.

"I'm fine with hunting, Dean, no worries," the younger sibling reassures, even if it seems rather forced because both know that Sam, normally, would call for a break just as well.

"Do you really need a break, son?" the older man asks, looking Dean right in the eye.

"I could really use one. I am simply exhausted, dad," Dean explains with almost pleading eyes. He could go on, but he honestly doesn't _want_ to. Before, hunting was at least a little bit of fun, but now it's just a job – a job that sucks, sucks _really_ bad, especially because he doesn't have Sam giggling about his _totally-not-funny_ jokes about the monster they are hunting and doesn't have Sam telling him about all the supernatural scum they are hunting being part of a major plot, set up by the government to secretly take over the world by buying all salt in the world that would be necessary once people learn the truth about the beasts and therefore making them all dependent on the government's salt storage.

"Well, if you really need a break… I can't use you on a hunt when you're tired and everything. That would endanger all of us. We'll take two days off and then head for the hunt. Deal?" the father offers with a calm voice.

"Deal, thanks, dad," Dean thanks with a smirk on his face, a little success at least.

"But dad, it's urgent we get there! This werewolf…" it suddenly comes from Sam.

"If your brother needs a break, then he needs a break, Samuel, no arguing about that. And I am only going to hunt a werewolf with the three of us, in _perfect_ shape, gives us better chances to encircle that bastard, period. I know you put a lot of effort into the research and everything, but that is the way we handle things, alright? I'm trusting Dean's judgment and I rather wait a day because of an honest answer than screwing up the entire thing because some people have a problem to admit as such. So I say we do it like I said, young man. And what I say is done, got it?" John snaps. Sam's jaw sets at that, going rigid, and his shoulders slump down in defeat. Dean feels really guilty all of the sudden. Sam didn't receive bad words from John in a while because he was so damned pleased with Sam's work. It must be a blow right in the guts to suddenly be lectured by their dad again. The worst is that Sam looks really, credibly sad right now, even if he tries to hide it, but Dean can see it, feel it.

"Yes, Sir, sorry, Sir, won't happen again, Sir," Sam mumbles faintly before his eyes drift off to the newspapers and books in front of him again.

"Sam, you help me getting some food?" Dean asks in his desperation, even if he is able to control his voice to not raise his father's attention. He just wants to get Sam out of this, somehow. His kid brother looks so beaten right now, Dean just wants to help because that sight is almost unbearable. He hopes the younger sibling gets the hint, and in fact he does. Sam gets up instantly, grabs his jacket and gets his shoes on.

"Sure," he whispers.

"We'll be back in a bit, dad," Dean says casually and with that the two leave. They walk up to the Impala, Sam still looking sad and hurt.

"I'm sorry for that," Dean says apologetically once they settle in the car.

"Sorry for _what_, Dean? You did nothing wrong," Sam frowns upon hearing his brother's words.

"Yeah, well, I kinda brought you into the situation. I just thought we all needed a break and… I didn't want dad to get mad at you or anything, and I know he didn't mean it," Dean reassures him, at least he tries to comfort Sam some, since the boy is always refusing.

"Dean, I talked back and that's why I got a verbal smack once again. It's not a big deal after all. Happened before, _plenty_ of times, right? So really, don't sweat it. Who cares for dad yelling at me for… for _that_? Huh?" Sam exhales.

"You, _you_ care for that, Sam," Dean argues with a strong voice.

"Well, maybe, but… it doesn't matter. I'm just moping too much, _again_. Dad's right anyways. He's _always_ right. And even if I wanted to take the hunt because I researched a lot, really, I researched _a lot. _Cost mehours of work and effort and reading stupid books about what I already knew until I finally cut to the topic… but if dad says we delay, well, then we delay, easy as that. It has always been that easy, right? It's not a big deal, is it? It doesn't mean anything, huh? It never meant anything. I don't mind… I really don't. I don't mind," Sam states, even if his voice grew very weak and shaking towards the end, like a mantra that starts to crumble in its function and only leaves an empty shell of what once used to offer reassurance.

"Sam, c'mon, little dude. I know something is bothering you, and it doesn't take a genius to realize things are not sitting well with you lately. You can tell me. I'm your big brother, remember? You can talk to me, I promise," Dean coos. Sam still looks sadly at him, maybe even sadder than before.

"Don't bother, Dean, it's… it's nothing. It's nothing, _really_. It doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter that dad yells at me for talking back _once_ and you actually _argued_ with him and he said nothing, actually _agreed_. It doesn't matter. It's not that I blame him, or you… it's just… I still have to adjust to that. Just give me a couple of days. Then I can handle, okay?" the younger teenager whispers with sorrow in his voice. Dean's heart almost breaks at that.

Sam is right about this. The older brother never really thought about this before, but whenever Sam just raises his voice, _once_, he gets a verbal blow and one hell of a lecture if he keeps going, but Dean, for him it doesn't apply as much. Of course he doesn't have a free-pass with their father, but John allows discussions at some point and allows Dean to tell his opinion. And just now, Sam just told his opinion, without anything bad in mind, and John was all over him again. _How is that fair_? That is the question the old Sam would have asked right now. How is it fair that Dean gets to argue, but he doesn't? How is it fair that Sam works his butt off to please their dad and the only thing he has to say is "_good job_" and "… _what I say is done_" – totally ignoring Sam's efforts and actually deceiving him. How is that fair? But the new Sam doesn't ask questions anymore, he just… _accepts_, gives in to destiny, bows his head and mumbles "_Yes, Sir_" – even if he has to bite his lip as he does.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Graduation Day**_

"Excited, little brother? Today's the big day!" Dean says with overly joy once Sam comes out of the car, still trying to get the tassel on the right side. At least Sam gets a proper graduation, the older brother says to himself. He knows how much it matters to his kid brother to walk down the aisle, shake hands with the head teacher, and throw the stupid hat. Sam had dreamed about this ever since he entered school, and now the day is there and… Sam looks rather tensed.

"I'm just nervous, and that stupid tassel won't stay on the side it's supposed to be at!" exclaims Sam with frustration in his voice. Dean walks up to him, a reassuring smile on his face. He takes the tassel, puts it into space and it actually stays.

"There you go. You just have to put the cord into the direction full-time once and then it will stay about just right," Dean smirks at his younger brother. Even if Dean never was that much into school, he learned to appreciate Sam caring for it and learned to be equally proud of good marks, and Sam really had amazing marks to show ever since. Hell, he is the best in his class, the best they have had in years, at least that's what the cute secretary told Dean after he had to check Sam out early the other day, for a hunt. And Dean is really proud of that, as proud as a… a father, actually.

He pats Sam's shoulder, giving him another reassuring smirk.

"Thanks," Sam says, tipping his head a little more.

"I guess ceremony will be in the gym?" Dean asks casually as they walk up behind the crowd of people storming into the gym to get the best seats to take photographs with their fancy cameras.

"Wow, who gave you that hint, dude?" Sam laughs. Dean gives him a nudge, before wrapping an arm around the younger man's shoulder.

"And you're ready for your… speech-thing?" Dean questions, now a little more serious. He doesn't want it to sound like it is actually laughable to him because it is not. Sam is craving approval, especially on that one. He practiced and redid the speech so many times, Dean lost count of it. That means it matters to Sam and so it matters to him, too, easy as that.

"I hope, even if I still have the incredible fear I'll either puke after the greeting, or I'll lose my voice throughout the speech and will sound like a girl. Beside that I couldn't be better," Sam jokes, even if both know he is actually more than nervous because of the speech. He is the orator of his class, something Sam is very proud of, since he didn't stay in the school for that long and it is an honor for him to be assigned such an important role.

"Well, if you feel like throwing up, do it on that Jackson-guy. I really don't like him," Dean jokes.

"Good idea since he is the head teacher, dude," Sam smirks back at the older teen.

"I still think he's mean," Dean says in a childish manner. He fumbles in the pocket of his jacket until he retrieves a disposable camera.

"Picture time, Sammy!" Dean laughs before pressing Sam's mop close to his and then he hits the button to take the picture.

"Hey!" Sam yells, with an honest giggle towards the end as he pulls away from his brother, with an outstretched tongue. Dean takes a picture of that, too, smirking even broader. Yeah, today is gonna be a good day. He knew it this morning when Sam tried on his graduation gown, came out of the bathroom and had the proudest of grins on his face and he knew when both were fully dressed, Dean even agreed to a button-up shirt in white and a decent looking suit jacket, even if he didn't agree to a full suit with tie and all that crap, and Sam hadn't argued once. He still appreciated Dean to actually be there on that day, and the older brother is glad he came along, admittedly.

"Okay, smart-ass, now one of you alone, without a goofy expression on, as far as that is possible with the face of yours! Say cheese!" Dean laughs as he brings the camera into place. Sam just shakes his head before giving the nicest smile he can afford, and even if Dean would _never-ever-in-a-million-years_ say that out loud, Sam has one of the most beautiful smiles, to him anyways.

"Alright, let's safe the others for later, huh?" Sam bargains. Dean smirks another time. Sam still doesn't like the attention and, admittedly, usually both aren't that much into _family-picture-time-mood_, but today is special after all. You should have at least a little reminder of that, so Dean thinks.

They are now standing in front of the gym.

"Dad's not gonna come, is he?" Sam suddenly says, looking a little defeated, head bowed, and unable to meet the older man's gaze, to Dean's very shock. He, specifically, bypassed the topic "_dad_" by any means today. He didn't even take the word in his mouth, as well as supernatural, monster, hunt, or next gig. This was supposed to be Sam's day, but it seems like Sam is really too smart to fall for it.

"The gig's keeping him busy, you know…" Dean tries to comfort. The older brother knew of course how much it would have mattered to Sam to have John here along with him, even if Sam is well aware of the fact that John doesn't give that a shit on school work anyways, but then Sam is just a child again sometimes, wanting his dad seeing him on the podium, on one of the greatest days of Sam's life up until now. Of course you want your dad to be around by that time, even Dean can understand that. And deep inside, he actually feels a little portion of anger tickling his guts because it surely wouldn't have been asked too much to be there for the stupid ceremony. It takes about what? An hour? The father doesn't have _one hour_ for something that is so important to Sam? But then again, Dean, as well as Sam, knows that the job demands sacrifices and you rarely get to choose where you have to be, and unfortunately John seemingly is needed elsewhere more than he is needed here at that very moment. At least he said so, after that huge argument they had.

Sam looks sad now, though, and that on his special day. That was not part of the plan.

"I know, Dean, I know that. I just… just now I had to think of him, I am sorry. I know you try to make this the perfect day. I appreciate that, really. It's awesome what you do, big bro. It's just… at some point I simply would have wanted him to be in the crowd along with you, but… it isn't, and what isn't there, that shouldn't be there anyways. I am glad _you_ came along, Dean. That matters to me a lot. Thank you," Sam says, before doing one of the things only rarely done in this family, he hugs Dean, shortly, but full-heartedly. Dean pats over the younger man's back. It just shows how important this is for Sam, and how important Dean is for Sam.

"That was so chick-flick," Dean laughs. He is just trying to loosen up the mood because if he didn't, he would tell Sam right now how much he loved him and how proud he was and all those unmanly things Dean rather keeps to himself because deep inside he knows that Sam knows just as well.

"Whatever, dude. Now you go in and get yourself a seat or… a position. I have to go to the other side to get in line, you know," Sam explains with a grin on his face. At least he regained his spirits.

"Alright, Ace, but no worries. I'll be right there to cheer you on. And if people aren't at it, I'll just yell the whole time, you know, "_Sammy, go_!", "_You can do it, dude_!", "_Gimme an S, gimme an A_…," Dean laughs, patting Sam's shoulder another time.

"You do that and you're dead, dude," Sam exclaims, before giggling himself. Then he runs off to the other folks in graduation dresses. Dean smirks to himself before he walks in. Lots of people, exactly the way he supposed to find them, funnily dressed and with fancy cameras, almost knocking the neighbor out just to get a freaking picture of the decoration. The young hunter smirks to himself before taking a seat in the back of the gym. That way he can wave Sam when he comes in to give some reassurance, and the boy won't be as freaked as he would be with Dean in front row, staring at him during his grant speech.

Soon there is the moment of truth, brass band plays, not as bad as Dean feared, and the graduating students make their appearance, all lined up, walking down the hallway. Sam Winchester, of course is one of the last, walking next to a cute little brunette. Dean puts his thumbs up, goofy expression right ahead, as Sam makes his appearance, and for whatever reason the younger man spotted Dean right away to give him a gentle smirk and a shake of his head. The ceremony carries on after that, the head teacher blabbering about how great this school is, then the brass bands again, a choir sings, and then is the moment of truth: Sammy's speech. Dean sits up on his chair, excited like a little child.

Sam walks up to the lectern, very gracefully and respectfully, taking in everything he sees for a moment. Everything turns quiet, all spot lights on Sam Winchester. Sam adjusts the microphone, lays down his notes on the lectern and leans in a little closer, before he finally begins his speech.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to the graduation ceremony of Lexington High," he starts with a soft but strong voice. Dean smirks. Sam sounds much more adult than normal and if he didn't know better, Sasquash looks even taller than he actually is.

"… Gee, hardest part is over now!" he then exclaims jokingly, to loosen up the mood, and it works. All people start giggling and even Dean's lips twitch at that.

"My name is Sam Winchester and I was honored with giving this year's graduation speech, for which I am deeply grateful, since I am in that school for not so long now, but still my fellow students as well as my teachers showed me their friendship by entrusting me with this honor. First of all, I want to thank the teachers for their gentle treatment that held us all together during these times. With their knowledge and integrity they carried our board to where we are standing right now. With an open ear for problems and encouragement wherever it was needed, even for the not-so-bright-lights of our class they tried their best to ignite their light just as well, and as you can see, it worked, since we are all standing here today. They helped us to walk up and down the hallways to finally reach this destination. Thank you for that."

He takes a short pause to suck in a deep breath. His pronunciation and pace are incredibly well executed, and even if his voice is soft and calm, you can hear Sam's soft voice clearly ring, even in the last row.

"That's my boy," Dean smirks to himself.

"I also want to thank my fellow students. I don't know them as well as I wished to, but it is enough to know that they are all, every single one of them, incredible personalities with an equally incredible future lying ahead of them. They welcomed me at this school as if I was one of them since kindergarten. It was a pleasure to work with all of them and it fills my heart with dignity and pride that I am allowed to call me as one of them, that I am allowed to walk along with them in the same row, towards the steps we are standing on right now, towards the steps that still lie ahead of us."

He takes another pause to catch his breath before he goes on.

"Today, ladies and gentlemen, we are standing on the first steps of a long journey. I am fairly certain that no one is entirely sure where he or she is heading now, but we all share the same desire to crave for more in our life, to make something out of ourselves, to climb more than just one step higher. We all want to reach the last step, and that is what connects us, will always connect us, even when memories start to blur and only washed photographs are proof for what happened here today. Forty years from now we probably will have a hard time to remember with whom we were lined up with, or what actually was written on the banner that is in my back. Forty years from now and we'll be at a place very far from this here because we are going to change, and that is the most important. Forty years from now we won't be kids anymore, we won't get worked up over finals, won't hustle to the school bus, or play a prank on a teacher. Forty years from now we'll be adults, just like the parents that are here today to cheer on their children are. Forty years from now and we'll perhaps stand here another time to cheer our kids up as they walk down the aisle to receive their diploma and get the free-pass to tackle the world. But that lies far out of reach, at least it does for now."

He makes another pause. Suddenly he shakes his head, glancing up, a smirk quickly fading over his features, before his head turns back to the crowd.

"I really have to apologize to you all right now. I am doing this beforehand because you certainly are expecting the very least what I am trying to express right now. However, I hope you understand that this is one of the few chances given in life to say aloud what I am going to say in the following. I want to say something else, something that is not written on those neat cards, no, it's something personal. Now I really would like to say what is important to me. It's funny enough that I didn't think about writing _that_ down to present it here today, but perhaps it was the fact that it is so present inside my mind at all times that I lost sight of it, and therefore I am no longer dependent on these…"

He takes his notes and tears them to shreds in front of the audience, quite dramatic, but Dean knows that Sam is doing this for real, not only to give his speech more excitement, but because he really has something on mind.

"Ladies and gentlemen, life is about choices. Our choices in life define who we are, make us the person we once were and the person we are going to be in the future. And that applies not only to the big choices in life, about what job we are going to have, or if we want children, or how many of them, if we marry the person we love, no, it is about the little choices just as well, if we get up this morning, if we drink coffee or tea, if we go left or right, whether we take the bus or the train, this all defines us the very same way and will change our lives forever. The reason why I am saying this is because especially today I realized how much of a great impact our choices have on us. Just this morning it almost flashed my mind because I never really put much consideration into this, but now I do, now that I see all my fellow students in the same gown, to show our unity and the fact that we are acting together as one. We didn't just put on the dress, the hat, or the tassel before we came here, no, we _chose_ to do it, we did it because we are, as I already said, here today to tackle the world, to approach the first steps of becoming responsible adults who don't lose the flicker of hope within their eyes as they grow older and obstacles become harder to overcome. We all believe in a future, we believe in our very own future, with obstacles to make us fall hard and miracles to carry us over the hurdles of life along the way. We are here today because we _choose_ to be here, because we _choose_ to take either this or another way. We are here to make the first step on a newly found path, a path that was opened up by our family and friends, by the choices they made for us and by the choices we made on our own. It is one of the first chances in life we get to make a choice of our own, by ourselves alone. Today we gain freedom, by throwing the hat high in the air, by receiving that diploma, proof for our hard work, proof for our use within this world, as the proof for the hard struggle to come to this very point, supported by family and friends on every step of the way. Today we are allowed a first taste of victory, a first taste of independence, liberty… the question now is if we take that chance or perhaps grasp another. There are two paths right now, each individually set up for all of us, but we all have two tunnels to choose between and… I can only speak for myself, but here today, with so much offered, with so much given, I feel nothing but honest fear to make the wrong choice in the end. When I came here, my knees were shaking badly and right now my hand is acting on its own accord. We all are faced with those questions about how we want to design our future, how it is supposed to be like, smell like, taste like, feel like, sound like. It is rummaging in our heads, not only today, but for some time now, and all of us are bothering our heads over this because we want to make the right choice _so_ badly. We want to make our parents proud, we want to show them that we are able to do more than we have to offer right now, we want them to understand us, we want to show them the world from our point of view, but at the same time we want to crave for freedom, independence, want to open the gates to a world no one discovered before, want to grow wings, supported by freedom, and simply fly away. So yeah, it is a hard struggle going on in our minds right now, and the choice we are eventually going to make, be it prolonged or not, this will be a milestone in our lives, unchangeable and monumental till the ends of our existence… and sometimes… sometimes… you make a choice not only for yourself, not only for your very own good, sometimes we find the strength to do that, be not necessarily _selfless_, but… standing above the feelings of selfishness and the needs either one might have, for the sake of an important person. Not many are gifted with that kind of strength, a lot fail when they try, some give up, a few never give it a shot, and the rest, the little portion that is eventually left, those people choose a tunnel they just discovered. And the way there is very rough, and plastered with obstacles and trouble and sorrow, but I am convinced, no, I _believe_ that at the very end of that path… that is where you will discover the true freedom."

He takes another deep breath. His eyes are almost watery by now.

"Sometimes the choices we make are not about ourselves alone. With our choices we affect others the very same way, we have an impact on their lives and on the paths they take. Not often we are offered the chance of having a truly good impact on people. For the most part people tend to mess up, I suppose, even if they may have noble motives in mind, they fail in the execution. And I am definitely not the exception. It is hard to do the right thing because sometimes doing the right thing means to give up on something else you hold very dear and want to keep… However, especially today is a day that is wiped clean and allows us, for a very short moment, to have a positive impact on people and actually see them, realize them with their greatness and with their needs just as well. Today we are offered many things, but for me it is probably the most important that… for me, personally, it is the most important that I get the chance of forgetting about myself for a brief moment to see the person that is probably the most important to me in life, to whom I owe so much that I could never pay it back by any means. For that person I'd go till the end of days, where there is no sun, no light, no darkness, where everything dies and is born anew. We have been through a lot, and sometimes I am glad I can say that I helped him the very same way he helped me. We faced many obstacles in life together and overcame them, returning with scratches and scars all over, but with a newly found strength growing within us. I am glad and grateful that I can count myself that lucky to… to have him around and… and that he devoted his life to me… Today I want to embrace the chance to tell that person that I devote my life to him the very same way. Be it that he fixed my tassel so that it isn't in my face at all times, be it that he stayed by my bedside when I was still a child and was sick, be it that he bought a stupid-looking disposable camera so that once we look back on that day we have a washed photograph to remind ourselves of how foolish we were today, be it that he promised me to start a Mexican wave just to get the audience into the mood, for which I am still thankful he didn't, simply be it the little things he does for me that have the greatest impact on me, and those impacts are all for good, I believe. He makes me a better person. And I want to have the same kind of influence on him. For that person I'd take any step, I'd take any obstacle, would jump down into any pit, even if I didn't see the bottom, for that person I'd turn my back on any tunnel to offer, no matter how beautiful or promising it might look like. I bothered my head over this like any other, but standing here today, talking to you, ladies and gentlemen, I think it brought me to my final conclusion, which steps I want to take, and for that I am grateful. I am grateful for you listening to me, and for not tossing tomatoes at me for turning this ceremony a little upside-down by my new approach, but most importantly I want to thank the person I told you about. It is a matter of heart to me to actually verbalize it because… as William Arthur Ward would say: "_Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it_," and I believe in his words. If you don't say it out loud that you are so grateful for that person to be there for you, then you purify his efforts and make them smaller than they are. You aren't just grateful by thinking a thank you, but saying it the same way. Today, standing in front of you, I want to thank the teachers, the students, the parents here, the people not here, the people who supported me along the way, and I want to thank especially that person for his efforts. I feel deep gratitude and happiness, however I want actions to follow these words because, as John F. Kennedy already pointed out: "_As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them_."And therefore I will try to act in the pursuit of the goals I set for myself, to show my gratitude for what was done for me, by forgetting about myself for a bare moment and focus on other things than me to pull my focus out and perhaps lead me to a completely new world. I can only make a promise here today that I am going to fulfill that vowel, today is the day I make a promise to everyone here, and I believe it is a day that others make promises just as well. I, personally, promise to show my gratitude and express it with every breath I take. Today is a day of choices, a day of promises and forty years from now… forty years from now I hope I accomplished my goal to fulfill the promise made here today. And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I want to end my speech, with a promise, a promise we shall meet each other again, or at least remember this when our bones are aching and colors are fading from the old photographs of a former memory. Thank you."

He bows his head deeply so that you can't see his face. People are frantically clapping their hands and the students start a standing ovation everyone eventually joins. Dean gets up, biting back tears on his own. He knows who Sam meant with his words and he can't believe that his younger brother actually has that much of a great opinion of him, values him that high, and even goes as far as to express that in front of all the students, parents and teachers. That takes more than simple courage, to Dean this was just… _brave_. Sam bows his head another time before he hastily returns to his seat. A few of his friends clap him on the shoulder, probably mumbling words of praise and encouragement, but Sam remains with a bowed head, tipping his hat deeper and deeper. The ceremony carries on after that, as if nothing happened, even if all of them, so Dean is sure, are going to remember Sam's full-hearted speech above anything. Soon the diplomas are handed out, Sam is notified the best of his class another time, even getting a little award for his hard work, to which the younger teen only shyly smiles, especially since Dean yells from the back row "Way to go, Sammy!" – and Dean doesn't even care that Sam is so going to kill him about that because Sam's face lightens up and he cracks into a laughter only he can display. There is the walk-out and the famous _throwing-of-the-hats_, photos are taken, students are chatting, hugging, saying goodbyes and sharing overly joy about finally having it made out of this place. Sam is rather sober-looking, hugs his closest friends, tells them goodbye, and before Dean can realize, Sam is standing right beside him and leads the older man away from the crowd, back to the car.

"I swear to God if you crack up laughing right now, I am going to kill you, Dean," Sam suddenly exclaims, his brows furrowing nervously.

"What?" Dean says with a slight grin on his face.

"You can laugh all you want, I meant honestly what I said and you can call it all girly and chick-flick you want, I don't care," Sam fumes. Dean has to grin at that another time because he didn't even say anything and Sam is already mad at him for that reason, really, moody teenagers sometimes.

They reach the car.

"I'm not laughing, Sam," Dean says calmly as he starts the engine.

"So? Wanna reveal your great critique now? You know, let's just get over with it…," Sam sighs, looking incredibly defeated all of the sudden.

"What am I supposed to say, Sam, huh?" Dean exhales with a shake of his head.

"I don't know, Dean, that's _your_ business," Sam says drily, trying to maintain a calm voice, too.

"Alright, so here I go. The beginning was a great warm-up, to get them going, you know? After that, even if it was very well executed, it was kinda flat…," Dean smirks.

"Well, it's part of the procedure, Dean. It's part of the rule that you thank the staff and the students for their good work and everything," Sam retorts.

"I wasn't finished yet. The beginning, now, wasn't as good because I heard the whole speech and it was… simply amazing, Sam. The best speech I've ever heard," Dean finally says with a proud smile on his face. Sam's jaw drops upon hearing this. He certainly expected one of Dean's smart-ass-remarks right now, and not a full-hand praise.

"Well, that comes kinda unexpected, but… I guess you exaggerate a little bit. I mean, how many speeches did you listen to in your life?" Sam smirks, trying to hide the blush of his cheeks.

"Enough to know this was the best ever!" Dean says confidently.

"And what about King's speech – "_I Have a Dream_" – or the "_Gettysburg Address_" by Abraham Lincoln?" Sam shoots back with a grin.

"Well, those are evergreens, but hey, who can actually say about himself he got a speech written for him, huh? I guess not many, right?" Dean laughs.

"No," Sam sighs.

"So what kicked you in the ass so that you didn't give your prepared speech, but, in the very dramatic way, tear it apart to simply… make up something new?" Dean asks.

"When I was standing on the podium… I mean, I was proud as hell and before I really believed this was the best speech I could possibly present, but… when I glanced at the crowd, at my friends, at you, it made me realize that the speech I was going to give originally had nothing to do… with _me_, about how I really feel like about graduation, about what comes after that. The most important is, though, that your speech is credible, that people buy what you're saying. I mean, the Gettysburg Address, for instance, lasted for just a few minutes, it was one of the shortest speeches ever given, but it had a great impact on the people during that time and even today people read this speech and have gooseflesh, but that is because Lincoln was so credible in what he said, was so credible in the way he presented it as well as the words that he chose, that people even of today believe and remember it… and even if I know that my speech doesn't even come close to that, I wanted my speech to at least take the same course. I wanted to talk about what really was on my mind, and not blabber about team spirit and the next school events, that wouldn't have been me, simple as that," Sam explains in all honesty.

"Well, you were credible, Sam," Dean says.

"Thank you," Sam says with half a sigh.

"Honestly… I mean, I am your big brother and everything, but today I was… I was as proud as a father, you know? You really flashed me with your speech, Sam, honest. I never expected anything like that…," Dean then says after a while of silence. Usually he is so not for chick-flick, but Dean is fully convinced that it is important for the both of them that he says that right now. It's like Sam pointed out in his speech, some things have to be said in order to make their statement.

"It needed to be said," Sam explains.

"And are you going to tell me what tunnel you chose, Sam?" Dean asks with half a smile.

"No, you don't have to know," Sam says with a smirk on his face, now looking almost tired as he stares out of the window.

"But I would definitely _like_ to know," Dean argues.

"It doesn't matter, dude, believe me… everything's being taken care of, path is chosen, the other tunnels are closed down now… so, are we going to meet up with dad now?" Sam says, to Dean's very surprise.

"I thought you wanted to go on that after-party the kids were talking about…" Dean frowns. He heard that Toby-boy inviting Sam to come to his graduation party and he was pretty certain Sam would at least ask the older brother if he could tell Toby hi and goodbye before they left town.

"No. I did what I wanted to do. I finished up my last business in this town and wiped the plate clean. Now I am walking up a new path. Today is the start of the rest of my life," Sam whispers, his eyes setting off for the window another time, but this time his stare remains there as he gets out of his gown and both know that they are heading to meet up with dad right now, who is about two states away. They drive in all silence and the unexplainable feeling settles within Dean that something is severely wrong with his younger brother, or why else did he, during his speech, have tears in his eyes when he said that he made a choice now and, right now, the fact that today starts the rest of his life.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Year 5_**

"Hey, didn't you forget something, Sammy-boy?" Dean asks as they enter their motel room after the finished gig. It was a success in the end, but surely a long struggle for both brothers. After days and nights of endlessly seeming research and interrogation, the tailing followed, which meant spending day after day trying to actually catch the beast in action, but that went unsuccessfully until tonight, even if the bastard surely went down fighting, fighting _a lot_.

"What should I have forgotten? Dude, we burned the corpse, we cleaned up…," Sam argues as he heavily sits down on his bed, fighting off his shoes and jacket.

"Nothing concerning the night, dude. Man, you really forgot?" Dean questions with a smirk on his face. He loves to tease his little brother a little. It's the only way to catch sight of a former Sam he used to know, long time ago.

"Well, lighten up my mind with the blazing news that seems to be in your head right now," Sam retorts almost impatiently.

"Well, Sam, what date do we have today?" Dean sighs. He really forgot, _unbelievable_.

"Dunno, should be May by now, shouldn't it?" Sam shrugs.

"Yeah, exactly, and every year in May there is a certain event…," Dean says playfully.

"Some holiday I missed? Well, you know, for the next gig, I looked into a new case involving Wiccan cults somewhere over in Utah, perhaps the holidays are important?" Sam frowns.

"I already said it's nothing about work, argh, really, you are so dense at times, Sam! Today is May 2nd, you douche-bag! It's your friggin' _birthday_, genius!" Dean exclaims.

"Oh, really? Didn't realize… hm…" Sam frowns mindfully.

"Well, isn't that the birthday-kid smiling his ass off at that?" Dean sighs.

"I really forgot, funny thing," Sam grimaces, still mindfully.

"You're such a poor sport, really, couldn't you at least fake to be somewhat excited about this? Anything? It's your _birthday_, dude!" Dean exclaims.

"Yeah, like any other year. I really don't get it anymore why people are making a big deal out of it, I mean, once they are _adults_, you know? As _kids_, that's alright… kids are always attracted to colorful things with bling-bling and rustling of wrapping paper, _for some reason_… but later on… we just celebrate one year closer to the grave…," Sam shrugs.

"You're not supposed to say that, bad omen," Dean lectures the younger man.

"Alright, alright…," Sam sighs, knowing that Dean doesn't like it when he says they might die sooner or later, both know it's a present issue at all times, but it is nothing you say out loud, just like the Bloody Mary Curse is something you rather keep to yourself, once you know they actually exist…

"So now: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Sammy!" Dean says with a smile on his face as he hands his brother an opened beer bottle and both clink the bottles to celebrate yet another year passing without anything truly bad happening, at least nothing life-threatening, beside the tear in the liver for Sam, the broken ribs for both of them, a fair share of beat-up for Dean, including several concussions of all degrees, and so on and so on…

"Well, a successful hunt, a probable next gig over in wonderful… _Utah_… and us two together, perfect birthday!" Sam then says with an actually honest smile on his face.

"Oh yeah, before I forget it…" Dean says, sits down on his bed, grabs underneath the mattress and retrieves an old book with leather binding.

"Didn't have the time to wrap it, but…" Dean explains apologetically as he hands his brother the book. Sam takes it with rather uncertain hands, running a hand across the smooth surface.

"No, no, thanks, that's… that's awesome, thanks, Dean, really. I greatly appreciate it," Sam reassures quickly.

"Well, you used to love that book when you were still a teen, but I didn't see it since… since your graduation or so. I thought you would like to read it again," Dean explains with a smirk on his face. Sam's birthday is one of the few occasions where the younger man actually allows such "emotions" to happen, or at least Dean gets his try on reminding Sam of how he has been before. Therefore, Dean actually puts honest effort into finding a proper birthday present, even if both of them are not the party-people over such reasons, but again… for Sam, Dean would do anything.

"Yeah, that's awesome, really," Sam nods.

"What happened to your first book anyways? I mean, you used to have a bag only for your books, dude. What happened to that thing?" Dean then asks.

"Uhm… I… oh yeah, they… they got lost, I suppose, on one of the hunts. I guess it was that one time we had to flee from police after they found us doing a ritual in a graveyard… during a funeral right next to us, by midday coz we needed the sunlight to work it…," Sam chuckles, recalling the memory from back then. They had to run till their lungs were short before giving out on them.

"It was your _treasure_, Sam. You used to bitch at me whenever I put it in a different place and dared to actually say something about it," Dean argues. And truly this used to be Sam's treasure. Dean always thought his younger brother was going to sit on this bag like the hen on her eggs, just to be sure no one dares to touch them. They offered him comfort these days. And even if Dean, very often, teased him about it, the older brother understood to some degree that Sam needed that. Dean finds pleasure in other things, by taking a drink once in a while, or enjoy a good time with a pretty girl, but Sam, at least back then, always had his books and those books were the world to him.

"Well, you remember our conversations about me doing a make-over? Well, that meant giving up on something I desperately clung on to for some… stupidly sentimental reason," Sam explains with a shrug of his shoulders, taking another swig of the beer. And "_stupidly sentimental reason_" is being proof for Sam's newly found robotic way of thinking. He shuts out emotions, a lot, and actually seemed to have been developed some sort of disgust towards them.

"So you left them – _on purpose_?" Dean frowns. That doesn't want to get into his head by any means. That was Sam's treasure after all. Sam would have whined about them gone if they actually left them on the hunt Sam just talked about. The youngest would have _insisted_ they come back, and even if he wouldn't have gotten his will, Sam would have complained for about three months, if not longer. Even if the younger brother had never told Dean, the older sibling always knew what these books meant to Sam. They were his refuge, his escape from everyday's terrors, the blood, the decaying flesh, the burning bodies, the beasts, the monsters, the demons, the fear, the smell of gunpowder, the nasty motel rooms, the arguments with their dad, the death surrounding them. Dean never thought Sam would be able to part from just one of the books – in a lifetime.

"No, I didn't… I just… they got _lost_… and when I realized… I was actually kinda _glad_ because… those books were only _residual pollution_ at some point. They are not necessary for the hunts, are only a distraction, to keep my mind off of what is important, of what is going on in the real world. So yeah, I didn't miss them once they were gone, but this book… the one you got me I will make sure it doesn't get lost of course," Sam says with a grin. That, so Dean had to learn, is Sam's new way of showing affection.

"That was not the question. Sometimes I just ask myself where my geek-brother's gone now, you know, the boy who used to drown in books, be all bitchy about hunts, do extra-homework just for the fun of it, or solve a Rubik's cube over and over again, even with fourteen colored plates already missing. What happened to that dude, huh?" Dean says, taking another gulp, a big one this time.

"Turned out to be less effective, so he had to go," Sam says with certainty in his voice.

"And what's so bad about being less effective?" Dean asks. To Dean Sam never had to be effective in order to gain his affection. The kid had it all along and there is nothing Sam could possibly do to touch or destroy that resort. Dean's love for Sam is unconditional, has always been, and will always be. Even if Sam would, in all eternity, have stayed a total hunting-retard to drop his gun or fall on any occasion, Dean wouldn't have loved him any less.

"That you get your ass roasted by a vampire or werewolf on the very next occasion. Only an effective hunter is a good hunter, dad taught us that… cheers on that," Sam smirks, before taking another sip of his beer.

"Yeah, cheers on you, Sammy… happy birthday…" Dean mumbles to himself, taking a swig of his beer, and with that ends another birthday that reveals that the Sam he once knew is no longer there.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Week 2 before Graduation**_

"Alright, class, that's everything for today. Please read the rest of the chapter till tomorrow, and I want your notebooks by the end of the week, don't forget that. They make up 15% of your final grade, so you want to hand in a neatly written notebook," Mr. Parker says, Sam's English teacher, and his favorite teacher on tops. Sam really enjoys the lessons with him because he is a very fair person, challenges his students to actually teach them something new, tries out new methods, he still has an open ear for any of the kids, and he puts a lot of effort into the teens who aren't that good and therefore require more guidance. So yeah, Mr. Parker really is his favorite teacher since… ever.

The students get up and are about to make their leave.

"Oh, Sam, can I have a word with you?" Mr. Parker asks in a rather serious tone. Sam cringes at that and Toby, one of the few friends Sam made over the time, claps him on the shoulder, offering a reassuring smile as he leaves the room just as well. Soon the classroom is empty and Sam stands in front of Mr. Parker's desk, a little bit of a chill running down his spine.

"Why don't you take a seat, Sam?" Mr. Parker offers, pointing to a chair right next to his. Sam obeys of course, that's how he learned it, and sits down on the chair, dropping his backpack to the floor.

"Uhm, did I do something wrong, Sir? I thought I handed in all the due papers… am I missing something?" Sam asks frantically. He worked really hard for this class, as well as any other, but he simply enjoyed working for that teacher and put in all his effort into it when it was about assignments, notebooks, or papers.

"What? No, it's nothing like that, Sam. I am very happy about your hard work, actually. You are my best student in years," Mr. Parker reassures the younger man. Sam eases a little at that.

"So what is it, Sir? What's wrong?" asks the teenager.

"Well, Sam… it's no bad news, be reassured. It's actually _great_ news, if you asked me. I know by now that your family is moving around a lot and that's why you don't have a permanent address, what makes it kinda hard to send you mails and everything, right?" Mr. Parker says with a gentle smile.

"Well, yeah, mostly, but we usually don't receive mails anyways. We have somebody to receive the most important things, bills and so on, a friend of ours. He collects the stuff and then he sends it to the address we stay at for a longer time. For my dad it's simply too much paperwork to apply for a new box whenever we come to a new town, Sir," Sam confirms with a gentle smile. It's halfway true. Bobby receives all important mails, given, but bills are not necessarily important to them because they are living off of credit card fraud and stolen money anyways, not that he is ever going to tell someone.

"Well, yeah, but on this certain occasion your mail-buddy didn't receive the mail," Mr. Parker smirks.

"I fear I don't quite understand where we are heading with this conversation, Sir?" Sam frowns.

"Sam, you are an incredibly smart boy your age. You have a lot of talent, are a hard worker, a team player, and great helper for anyone in need. You are ahead of your fellow students in most subjects, if not all of them, and that even though you have to readjust to new schools more than often, so to speak. You display a great deal of ability to grasp even far complicated systems and your memory surely is one of the greatest I have seen in a long, long time. I mean, not many students are able to recite a six-page long speech without having any notes…" Mr. Parker praises with a genuine smile on his face. Sam's face reddens. Okay, he did that, but that is also a lot due to his training. He is reciting exorcisms and chants since early age, a speech in one's own language is more of a funny mind-game then, really, at least it is to him.

"Mr. Parker, it really isn't a great deal…" Sam tries to convince the older man.

"It _is_ a great deal, Sam. I'm not going to lie to you. What you have there, Sam… that's… that's a gift. Graduation is only two weeks away and you are the only one who didn't consult me about college applications just _once_. You are the only one to never ask me about permission papers, options, recommendations for your application… _anything_! I mean, I am the counselor for exactly those things, and we both know you are well aware of that fact, you know that you can come to me to talk about that issue, but you never showed up," the older man sighs.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Parker. It is really nothing personal or anything, _really_, you have to believe me that," Sam almost pleads now. He can't stand the idea that he might have hurt the man's feelings with not coming for a consultation.

"Sam, I know that this has nothing to do with my person. What it is about, though, is you and your future. _That_ is the topic right now," Mr. Parker speaks.

"Mr. Parker, it's just that…" Sam begins, but can't carry on.

"It's just that you consider not to go to college, right?" Mr. Parker asks with a serious voice. Sam squints his eyes once, feeling incredibly hurt and caught at the very same time.

"Well, Mr. Parker, it's the following… I… family business is a topic of great concern for me. This business… it's everything we have… it's the way we live and… I grew up with both my dad and my brother doing the job. My brother can't handle it all alone and dad can't do this job… _forever_. I mean, that's the cycle of life… and even if we all pray for the moment never to come, it's going to be there, sooner or later, and then dad won't be able to continue the job and will have to step down, let us take the lead. And I would let my brother down if I left him alone with family business, and like I said, my dad needs me in the job just as well. Even if we would leave that aside for a moment, then there are still other problems to this…for one, it costs a lot of money to go to college, Mr. Parker. We aren't rich people, Sir. We are never going to be…. And then I know I couldn't link family business with school studies at the same time, so that is no option either. It is hard enough in High School now, to incorporate the work with studies… it only works to a certain degree, and I am fairly certain that it would be too much of a great challenge at a college. I don't think I could handle the stress, in all honesty," Sam explains. It's truth for the most part, even if John's harsh words about him joining hunting business are still clearly ringing in his ears.

"But do you _want_ to follow your dad with his… job?" Mr. Parker questions.

"It's not the question, Sir," Sam says as firmly as he can manage, not that he didn't consider. He stood in front of Mr. Parker's office more than often to knock on the door and ask for some application papers, but in the end Sam always turned away before his hand made contact with the wooden frame and he ran off before anyone realized him being there.

"Sam, it is the matter what you want. This is _your_ future after all. Your future, no one else's but yours. And Sam, let me tell you that you have so much to offer. You shouldn't regard yourself that low… I know you enjoy studying and everything connected to it. You wouldn't do so if this was nothing to you, you wouldn't work so hard if you never even considered to go to college once High School is over. If it really was the only plan you had in mind to join your family in the business, then it would have been done with just average, B's, C's, couple of A's, but Sam… you have straight A's and I had a look at your former records. You _always_ had straight A's. That is something to be proud of and it means that school actually matters to you," Mr. Parker argues. Sam is unable to counter that, because the teacher hit the very core of things. Sam enjoys school, enjoys it more than the hunting, enjoys it more than anything else to be perfectly honest. He loves to read, he loves to write articles and reports, to work out notebooks, take notes during the lessons, or creative writing, he loves everything about it because there the monster he hunts as part of family business aren't there. In school, Sam only has to fear about bullies and due papers and he can let the monsters of his memory become a story where he is in charge and where he doesn't have to fear for his life. There, in school, Sam is safe, and that makes it such a great thing to him. Mr. Parker, seeing Sam being at a loss, simply carries on, "Sam, I believe in you and that's why I am pushing so hard on this issue. I believe in you and your talents. I just think you need a chance in order to unfold your true potential… You should make something out of yourself. And that is why… why I set a few things into motion…" Sam looks utterly confused, lost. What is his teacher talking about?

"Sam, I wrote a report about you, about your grades, an evaluation of your abilities, based on social and educational standards, explained your situation, wrote about your personality, and I sent that report to colleges to see if people would respond to that. And here is the answer, Sam…," Mr. Parker says dramatically, before he gets a folder out of his bag. He hands it to the fuzzed boy, who shakily opens it.

"That's…," Sam says speechlessly.

"Yeah, that is Stanford, Sam. And they would offer you a full-ride scholarship. They would cover up for all your fees, the rent for the dorm, everything. Sam, they were so impressed by just the _report_ I wrote that they agreed to give you a _full-ride_. Do you understand what that means? If they met you in person, if you met some of the heads of all kinds of colleges, I am fairly certain this table here would be covered in offers, in _pleas_, to join their college," Mr. Parker explains. Sam would like to cry right now. That teacher is trying so hard for his sake and… and is trying to push Sam into fulfilling himself. Sam glances at the paper another time, the neat stamp on the top, STANFORD in bold letters, the elaborated signature on the end. That is all he ever dreamed about, a full scholarship, everything, right in his hand, but his guts turn into a weird knot and he feels like he is going to be very sick tonight, and that is not due to the fact Dean will be cooking this evening.

"I… I don't know what to say, Mr. Parker. What you did for me… it's huge, beyond that, this is one of the greatest and most outrageous things someone has ever done for me, believe me. That's nothing anyone ever did for me, I mean… of course my brother does _everything_ for me after all, but… you are the first to ever go that far just for my educational… no, for that _dream_ I have. I know you weren't forced to do it, you did it in order to help me, because you see something in me, and I am grateful that you regard me that worthy to actually deserve that treatment, Sir," Sam says hoarsely.

"I see great potential in you, Sam, and it would be a loss to the world if you didn't use your talents. You know, I became a teacher exactly for children like you, for those who struggle with the here and now and the future. I am trying to guide you, bring you one step closer to your dreams. I don't mind the effort I have to put into this, but I want to offer you kids at least a chance," Mr. Parker explains, offering another sympathetic smile. Sam replies faintly, eyes still fixing on the paper in front of him.

"So Sam, will you take that chance?" the teacher then asks. Sam internally jumps at that.

"If you had asked me right after I had an argument with my dad, be sure as hell I would have said yes, right away, without a moment of hesitation, I'd have screamed it out, from the roofs of this building, but… I _didn't_ argue with my dad, not right now and… my brother needs me, that is constantly rummaging inside my head… and… even if this chance is great, no, even more than that, … I am not sure anymore, not as confident as I may have been a few years or months back. You know, I am not responsible for my own life alone – that is family. I have other responsibilities in life just as well, most importantly the responsibility I have for my dad and my brother. They are the world to me and… I am not sure if I could just leave them alone with this, with family business and all. They need my help on the job. They need me by their side, just as much as I need them around. They give me strength, even if neither one admits very often. They care for me and would give their life for me – that is more than a scholarship could ever cover up for. People who would go that far for you aren't found in a dorm, they are only found in your own family, as much as they may piss you off at times. Their care – that gives me strength every single day and I honestly don't know how I could live on without them… I mean, going to Stanford with a full-ride, that's dream-like and if I didn't have that sheet of paper in my hands… I'd still go on and pinch myself to wake up from that sweet, sweet dream. I'd love to go to Stanford, law school, everything. I would really love to. And I think I would be pretty good student over there just as well, at least I would work my butt off to earn this, but… it's not as easy as that. One can't just follow one's dreams without second-guessing, without giving it proper consideration. There are a lot of factors I have to weigh against each other. I don't want to say what I am going to go either way because I… because I am simply not sure, Mr. Parker. I hope you understand that. I really, in all honesty, from deep within, feel the highest degree of gratitude for you and for what you did for me. You cannot possibly imagine how much that letter means to me, that's more than anyone other than my family has ever done for me, but at the same time… you can't imagine how much my family matters to me either. I can't even imagine for myself at some point because it's so damn huge, beyond anything I know so far and will probably ever know, too. It's so much that I could hate them for the love I feel for them, it's so much it actually hurts, but… they matter to me that much, really… So I want to think this through, very carefully, before I give you my final answer. Would that be alright?" Sam asks in his most gentle voice. Mr. Parker is still impressed by Sam's explanation and arguments. They come from deep within and Sam means every syllabus of it. The teacher nods with a sympathetic smile.

"It is an offer, Sam. I am not going to push you into anything you don't want to do. That is not for me to decide as your teacher. This is just a chance I want to give you, just so that you… so that you can _choose_. I mean, you told me before that your life is pretty much… _set_… for you, and I think it is important that you actually realize there are always two sides to a coin. Now it's your time to flip it and see if it's head or tails. The possibility to break out of that predestined life is right there, you may grasp it or leave it, but at least you can choose between the two. You take your time and figure yourself out. That is not a decision that should be made easily, true, but give it consideration, really. And I want you to toss one argument into the scale: Think about what makes _you_ happy in life, Sam. After all, this is your life and you should think about what makes you the happiest because… you shouldn't be unhappy if you can help it. Think about what you really _want_ from _your_ life, what _you_ want it to look like. Design it as you please, be the designer of your own life, do that one thing for yourself and grant yourself this chance. Can you do that for me?" Mr. Parker says.

"Yeah, I will do that, Mr. Parker. Thank you. Thanks a lot. I greatly appreciate it, really. I wish I could pay you back in some way, but…," Sam speaks, but Mr. Parker interrupts, "There is nothing you need to pay me back for. It was _my_ choice to help you and I don't regret it either way, if you go or not… that's not the matter for me. I mean, I guess you probably know which option I would prefer, but believe me when I say that I am happy for you either way, as long as the path you choose is the one that makes you the happiest." Sam simply nods upon hearing this.

"Thank you, Sir. If you'd excuse me now? My brother's here to pick me up from school. He's gonna be mad for me making him wait anyways. So notebook is due the end of the week?" Sam asks hastily as he gets up from his chair, shaking Mr. Parker's hand.

"Yeah, by the end of the week. I'll see you tomorrow, then, Sam. And remember, feel free to talk to me about it at any given time, with either outturn," the older man offers with a soft smirk.

"Yeah, thank you, Sir," Sam says gratefully, shouldering his bag. He proceeds to the door.

"Oh, Sam, one last thing!" the teacher suddenly asks. Sam turns slightly, uncertainly.

"Are you going to tell your brother about the grand news, too? Or your dad?" he asks almost coolly. He already knows the answer to that of course. Sam smirks, even if both know he would like to cry right now.

"Once I made up my mind, of course I will. I mean, I'll tell them about my choice eventually," Sam assures the older man.

"And will you tell them about the other option, the one you didn't choose then?" Mr. Parker asks even cooler than before.

"What sense does it make to talk about wasted chances, Sir? Life's about choices, right? So if you choose this or another path, then the other one is closed up, forever. That's the way world operates, isn't it? So what sense does it make to linger in the moment and always think about if one went wrong at that crossroad?" Sam says, and with that he disappears from the room, jogs down the empty hallways, biting his lower lip. Once he is outside, he takes a really deep breath and once his eyes catch sight of the familiar black Chevy in front of the school building, he puts on a smile and greets Dean with his casual smirk. And when Dean asks him what took him so long, Sam simply says, "Nothing special, Dean. Today was an ordinary day, just like any other… So what's for dinner tonight? I really hope you reconsider when it comes to you cooking and order us pizza instead. Your food sucks…"

And with that starts another argument, whereas the younger man only glances out of the window, a quick smirk washing over his features, even if he really would like to cry now.

_**Week 3**_

It's late night by now. John finally returned and now both teens are up for the fair share of training. Dean is still pretty pissed about the situation from earlier, but he tries to hide it in front of his father.

"So okay, after short warm-up, we'll do some close-range combat to begin with. Try to get the other to the floor and hold him there for about five seconds," John orders gruffly. The glaring neon light shines in his back, darkening the features of his face even more. They are in the backyard of a closed down gas station outside town. No one comes by anytime soon, so they are good with training there. The ground is solid, but allows some cushioning in case of downfall and there isn't that much garbage lying around that would cause injury, perfect conditions. The two teenagers are already busy with stretching their limbs as the father spits out his orders for the night. They are used to the procedure by now and everything goes pretty much without further words.

"Oh, Sammy-boy, you are _so_ getting your ass kicked tonight," Dean challenges with a smirk on his face. With the old Sam, he would have gotten a roll of hazel eyes before a nicely pointed out retort and they would have tackled each other just for the fun of it, but… new Sam doesn't swing that way. New Sam takes his position, carefully arranging his limbs to give a good fighting stance. New Sam is too busy focusing on the job as if he could try to find some fun in it. New Sam doesn't seem to remember those things anymore. Realizing that this isn't going to get them very far, Dean takes his usual position as well and John gives the sign to start. Dean tackles Sam head-on. He lifts his fist high to go for a face-blow first thing. Sam hates it when he does that, so he knows, but that is the reason why Dean usually does it. Normally, Sam would always duck away and gain some distance, but not this night. This night Dean actually makes contact, but not with the actual target, Sam's face, but with Sam's hand, which is solidly gripping his fist.

"Oh, didn't expect you'd dodge that, Sammy-boy," Dean says playfully as he fights off Sam's firm grip. Sam just silences through most of it.

"Dean, keep up your guard. That's important," John orders from the sideline. Dean readjusts his guard and goes for another attack, this time it's a body-blows, nice and swift in the motion, and this time he actually hits in the right places. Once he goes back with a long back-step to gain distance and give the younger a moment to recover, Sam looks totally indifferent to the punches he just received, and sure as hell Dean put in everything he had.

"Oh, so we are playing the bad-guy tonight, aren't we?" Dean says through pursed lips.

"Sam, you gotta fight back more. Dean is clearly having the upper hand in the challenge. You have to get into action sometime soon," John orders gruffly. He expects the usually rebellious son to do that in order to show his disapproval towards training. The little Gandhi-punk, rather taking the blows than exchanging them, _ugh_, John thinks to himself, but that is only until Sam emerges from his defensive fighting stance into action. He lunges at Dean in one swift motion so that the older barely sees it coming. Sam throws one punch in Dean's guts, not very hard, so he realizes, but enough force to make him arch his back. The younger man uses the momentum, though, to get one leg between Dean's spread limbs before he delivers another blow with the heel of the hand, exactly to Dean's chest, strong, yet so calmly, and before he can realize it, Dean is lying on the floor, the air knocked out of his lungs, Sam having a steady grip on his chest to hold him down, and the leg exactly in place to cut any path to escape. Sam just stares at him with empty looking eyes and after the younger man seemingly counted down the five seconds in his head, he directly releases his grip and helps Dean up, without a word escaping his pursed lips. The older Winchesters simply remain speechless. That new edge to Sam's fighting skills is just as new as the folder-thing he has going on now. Sam's movements are as tight as never before, his punches effective, and his mind open for any chance of weak points. And even if it is a calm Sam fighting, there is a harshness to his movements as he does, almost cold-blooded at some point, controlled, given, but the empty expression on his face is proof enough that the Sam who apologized to Dean a hundred times after he successfully threw Dean over for the very first time is now gone.

"You okay, Dean?" Sam says flatly, even if you can hear the brotherly concern in his voice nevertheless.

"Yeah, yeah… man, you trained, huh?" Dean says, catching his breath.

"Good job, Sam. But where did you learn that new move?" John questions with a rather curious expression on his face – for _his_ standards.

"Training, Sir. I had a look at Asian martial arts. I found some really helpful," Sam clips, straightening a little more. He really looks like a neat tiny little soldier right now, like the ones they used to play with when they were still kids, the toy soldiers Sam and Dean hid in the ashtray of the Impala.

"It seems to be. Dean, maybe you can learn a thing or two from your little brother. Sam, how about you show Dean that move sometime?" John says. That is really huge of the great John Winchester to allow Sam to possibly take over schedule and show something? That is like winning the lottery!

"I can do that, of course, Sir, if Dean wants to. Do we carry on usual schedule now or do we… do that now?" Sam frowns.

"Dean?" John questions.

"Well, I'd really like to learn that fancy trick of yours, Sammy. Then I can beat you the next time," Dean grins. Perhaps that will loosen up the mood a little. John nods to show his approval and so Sam takes Dean by the arm to walk up to their usual spots.

"The most essential to this technique is the rule: "_Force is not everything_" – and that is the neat trick about this just as well. You don't have to punch very hard to have a good result. Important are just the weak points of human anatomy," Sam explains, and _yeah_, he really looks a little bit like Sammy again. Dean's lips twitch at that.

"Alright, so whatcha do?" Dean asks.

"The main point is to get your opponent off balance. That works by either blocking the movement of the lower part of the body…" Sam says as he demonstrates it on Dean, blocking his legs with his. Both know that Dean is the best learner with hands-on, and that is why Sam, even if he is the little brother, turned out to be a good teacher for Dean. He always knows how to explain things so that Dean will understand them. Sam then poses to do the move from before another time, Dean nodding his understanding. The younger man releases right away and goes back into usual stance.

"… or by blocking the upper half of the body…" Sam speaks as he grabs Dean's shoulder to slant his back backwards by a few inches, before he successfully makes Dean tumble by using his leg without further movement another time. However, Sam doesn't let Dean fall down completely, but holds him in midair, before he lifts him back up again. And that is Sammy-like again. He would never harm Dean in such a situation. That is his soft side, the one Dean loves so much.

"That's a neat trick. So you basically tilt me over so that I lose my balance and then you use your leg as leverage to throw me to the ground…," Dean says with a quick smirk on his face.

"Exactly, the human skeleton allows balance only when there is a safe stance, but with the body arching or being slanted, balance can't be maintained, resulting in a downfall," Sam nods, "Wanna give it a shot now?" Sam asks with a quick grin washing over his face.

"Sure! I _so_ wanna pay you back for that one!" Dean says jokingly and Sam positions in order to give Dean the chance to try it out. The older teen got what Sam said and in fact, with the knowledge he already got, he knows by now that almost all fighting styles have certain basics they all share, balance being one of the most important. Dean thinks about the steps once, takes a deep breath, and then executes what he just learned. Dean is a fast learner when it is about such things, and in fact Sam is lying flat on the ground next thing he realizes. Dean quickly helps him up. The older man actually intended to do it the way Sam did it – catching him halfway, but he was so focused on the execution of the movement that Dean forgot. He feels a little guilty for that, for some unexplainable reason, but Sam gives it a soft chuckle as he gets back up, and that means it's alright.

Dean can still remember when Sam was still smaller and just started with the training and Dean threw him over his shoulder so many times that he lost count of it and each time Sam landed on his back – _hard_ – he just grabbed his face and laughed his butt off, for some unexplainable reason. But that was simply Sammy, at last it was back then.

"Perfectly done, as it was to be expected," Sam says with a slight grin.

"Yeah, I know I am the born fighter," Dean jokes, "… but you know, it's too bad that your technique only applies to two options, I mean, sometimes you don't get the chance to get your legs in between and then you're busted, right? But if the opponent gets into the position, then it's a really neat trick, dude." However, before he can break out into a malicious laughter, he suddenly feels Sam brushing past him, now being to his right, opposing, grabbing Dean's right shoulder with his left. Then the older teen feels an impact to his hollow of the knee so that his legs have to budge a little and before he can realize it, Dean lands on his side, Sam sitting on tops of him.

"It works for the sides just as well, you know? You just have to find a new weak spot. Coz the lower part of the body consists of more than one weak point, you gotta realize, and there are dozens of ways how to tackle them," Sam says with a malicious grin on his face. He gets up, helps Dean up, too, clapping his shoulder. Dean grumbles something to himself.

That was Sammy right there just again. One time during training, Sam had, _by accident_ as he had consistently claimed, gotten Dean in such a way that he fell right over and Sam sat on tops of him as if Dean was some kind of furniture. Dean, being a rebellious teen during these times himself, was growling loudly because he was utterly frustrated about himself, for getting caught by the much younger brother, in such a position, in something he should definitely beat him at. However, that all vanished when Sam cracked up laughing his butt off, something between pride, shock, and childishly innocent joy and Dean had joined after a while, both rolling over the dirty ground and even if John grumbled all he wanted, the two didn't care.

"Good job, alright, we'll work on this another time. Now we'll go on with pushups, I wanna see fifty in two, _at least_, go, now!" John orders and Sam is the first down to his knees to start the round of pushups. Their dad likes to throw in one of those basic trainings in a while, and it's always coined to wear the two out and make them react quickly and swiftly, and as Sam had always claimed before, it was a way to drill the two into being obedient puppies who jump at the whistle of the owner, just to do some new fancy trick and jump higher each time. Dean had laughed at Sam back then because he thought it was ridiculous that Sam said so, but just today Dean feels for the very first time that his little brother was perhaps right with his prediction… Dean gets to his knees, too, and, a little reluctantly, starts with his pushups as well.

"So how many did you do today, Sammy?" Dean then teases, John not realizing the words. However, Sam ignores him, stoically counting with every breath as he completes another pushup. And there he is back again, new Sam.

"Or how many minutes did you stay upright while doing handstand?" Dean says. Sam just silences again. Old Sam would have given him the eye and would have cursed at him, _something_, but this new Sam doesn't do that. The new Sam is too busy doing pushups. And even if their dad doesn't know, Sam is doing one-handed pushups again, but, so that he doesn't show off, he keeps the other hand in place, only a few inches above the ground and acts as if he is doing the normal ones. And Dean can't push the guilty feeling aside that Sam does it to keep up with his normal schedule for one, and for two so that he doesn't embarrass Dean or pushes him into doing it, too.

"Once you're done, you'll run five rounds, around the entire yard, got it?" John orders. And that is when Dean looks at Sam, eyes squinted shut, teeth gritting, and spitting out the words "Yes, Sir!"


	7. Chapter 7

**_Year 5_**

Both spent Sam's birthday getting drunk. Sam turned out to be a fair drinker just as well over the last years. The old Sam was a little sensitive about it and when he drank alcohol, he was wasted after the first bottle, but now… now Sam empties as many as Dean does and is equally numbed by the booze.

"Hey, Sammy, the last time I drank so much, I was like… seventeen and… we were in Arizona and John caught me lolling on the floor… god, the dude was mad at me…" Dean giggles through the haze inside his head.

Since that one night Dean is always referring to their father as _John_, even with his already drunk mind. Sam stuck to calling him dad for _some_ reason, even if that is actually no proof for any kind of a closer connection. Dean is just showing it as much as he can because that night things were destroyed no one will ever be able to repair, and even if it isn't much, it's Dean's way of defiance. And as for Sam, this only fits with his robot-behavior. Then you don't care for the title. He knows what's happened and felt it the same way, but to Sam it's simply not necessary to show that hurt and defiance, he does that either on the inside or is simply totally ignorant of that sensation. Dean is not entirely sure but he never dared to argue about it since he accepted that Sam is dealing with things his own way, even if it hurts.

"Yeah, coz you were too young to drink alcohol back then… and you made a mess out of the room…," Sam says with a quick smirk on his face.

"Well, yeah, but for what they got maids?" Dean shrugs.

"Not for _that_, dude… and we were in an apartment actually, so no maids anyways, you jerk… Thank God I was such an awesome brother to wipe at least your vomit away… and rearrange the furniture that you had messed up in your drunken mind before dad came back," Sam smirks.

"What? I didn't… did I?" Dean frowns, looking incredibly stupid.

"Dude, I just came back from the library after research and you were… throwing up all over the place, tearing down the walls if I had let you," Sam reports with a disgusted face.

"I don't remember much of that night as it seems…," Dean realizes mindfully.

"Nope… you were in a drunken stupor… it's still a miracle not all your brain cells died that day," Sam agrees with a smirk.

"Haha, and you didn't give me hell 'bout it?" Dean frowns.

"Why so? Was the first time I caught you disobeying dad… and having fun at something… something not-hunt-related. Back then I was like… '_yay, finally I got him there_…' you know, old rebellious self seeing a chance of proving to the family that life's not all about the hunts… so _yeah_, I was kinda glad back then that you did. And I was willing to cover up for it…," Sam says with a dumb smile on his face. The alcohol loosens up his tongue just as well. And it hits Dean quite harshly just to realize how funny those ideas Sam once called his own are to him now. There is just so much of a distance between him and his old self, everything he held dear and everything he believed at a few years back.

"Yeah, actually… that probably was my first time disobeying John that way…," Dean says mindfully. "But now we're responsible… _adults_… and don't do such a thing… or at least we do no longer with dad around… right?" Sam chuckles.

"Responsible adults… wasn't that part of your graduation speech?" Dean frowns.

"You remember?" Sam asks almost shocked.

"Well, right now things are kinda hazy, but that's due to the alcohol… when I'm sober… I know the whole damned thing," Dean says with honesty in his voice.

"I'm kinda thrilled to hear that… comes unexpected, certainly…" Sam exhales uncomfortably.

"Well, you remember a speech given for you, right?" Dean shrugs.

"Probably…," Sam frowns.

"Did you accomplish your goals yet? The ones you mentioned in your speech?" Dean asks.

"I'm working on it… I'm working on it…," Sam nods.

"And am I ever going to find out what you really have as a goal in mind?" Dean questions with half a smirk, half a teary eye.

"Let's not think about that. Today's my birthday, right? And I'm not nearly as drunk as I intended to be. So how 'bout we kill Daniels now?" Sam then says, getting up, a little unsteady on his feet, and retrieving a bottle of Jack Daniels from his duffel.

"Since when do you have alcohol stored in your duffel?" Dean frowns. That would be rather his move, not Sam, at least Dean thought so.

"Since I learned things start to blur at the edges of consciousness when you gulp the required amount of alcohol. Bobby's always said it: '_Alcohol is the hunter's best friend, ya idjits_," Sam speaks, before he hands Dean the bottle. The older brother takes a hesitant sip. Then he hands the bottle back to Sam, who sits down on his bed again, and takes a huge gulp of the alcohol. They continue chatting some, but not about the real topics, especially since Sam is seemingly bypassing them anyways. Dean gives in to that kind of fate, though. It's Sam's birthday, so let him have his way on that one occasion. It is his day after all and that is exactly how the older brother wants to celebrate it. It's one of the few days where Sam is actually calm and somewhat happy. Thus, the older brother will make sure that things stay that way exactly. And Dean is done for the day with all the alcohol in the system anyways, a serious talk would probably end up with both of them drawing their knives, or hanging over the toilet bowl.

Soon Sam falls asleep on his bed, clutching on to an empty beer bottle as if it were some teddy, even if Dean knows his brother doesn't give a damn on that anymore – _sadly_, snoring peacefully and looking like a much younger version of himself. Dean gets up, a soft smile on his face, retrieves the bottle from Sam's firm grip, lifts the long limbs on the bed and throws the covers over the younger sibling, before he sits down on the edge and ruffles through Sam's brown curls. That's also why he lets Sam have his way on his birthday. It's when the older brother is about the happiest as well because then he gets to see his peacefully sleeping little brother for at least once a year, looking relieved and less burdened for at least one time. So yeah, that's how their lives look like right now. They live from moment to moment, or as for Dean, from birthday to birthday…

"I'm just wondering what you're so desperately trying to forget, Sammy…," Dean whispers as he stands back up and crashes on his own bed.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Month 4_**

After Sam's confession, both remained silent for the rest of the trip to get something to eat, and Sam turned in on himself even more once they came into the fast food restaurant. He allows Dean to order the course for him, shoulders hunched, head bowed, and eyes meeting nothing but the tiles on the floor. And if the older brother didn't know better, he would still believe Sam counted them all during the time he made the order. Now they are on their way back to the motel, driving down the roads that seem to shine in the headlights of the Impala. Dean grimaced at the thought of Sam and his behavior, not entirely sure what to do or what to say. Talking to Sam suddenly became a rather complicated issue, became it since he turned into that new self of his.

"So you are going to give me the silent treatment from now on?" Dean finally says with a grim expression washing over his face. He always hated it when Sam would punish him with silence for some damn reason, and even if Dean constantly whined over the fact that Sam was a waterfall when it came to talking, he couldn't stand it when Sam showed him the cold shoulder. And up until now that hasn't changed.

"What… no… I'm sorry, Dean… I… I told you, this has nothing to do with you. I am not mad at you, really… you gotta believe me that," Sam says apologetically, and Dean knows the boy means it. However, he can't push the anger aside right now.

"So are you mad at dad?" Dean frowns.

"What? No… I mean… I'm not exactly _thrilled_ about what dad said, but… he was right with what he told me. I was being selfish again coz I wanted to take that damned hunt, rather than listening to you guys. We really worked a lot lately and that can wear someone out. It's enough I didn't realize you needed a break and everything and didn't call in for your sake," Sam apologizes once again, with a lot of brotherly concern.

"What? Sam, I… I am not worn out our anything… at least not as much as I made it sound like. I was just a little… _sick_ of this. I mean, before, we took hunts all the time, too, but we always had some spare time in between, but now we are hunting not monsters alone… we are hunting… _hunts_! That kinda pissed me off and that's why I told dad I needed a break… and it wasn't just for my sake, coz… I was concerned about you just as well. Man, you are so _nutty_ on the hunts that you barely do anything other than that. I thought it's not healthy in the long-run to have you on hunt after hunt after hunt," Dean explains, for one to reassure Sam, and for two to express his worry for his younger sibling.

"I'm fine, Dean. I didn't get pushed or anything. _I_ was the one to look up the hunts," Sam answers.

"Yeah, coz you want to be a good son, _a lot_, recently, coz you know dad likes that you do so," Dean shoots back with a grim expression. Because in fact that desperate want to please dad is something Sam never would have displayed before. Sure, it's not like Sam wouldn't want their dad to be proud of him. It's a natural thing for a son to crave his dad's approval, Sam's not the exception here, but he would never-ever throw himself at John in such a way. Sam always found that humiliating and that is why he didn't do it. The youngest only did the things for his dad that he could agree with or when it was a direct order he couldn't say no to. And it's so unlike for Sam to simply agree to anything and everything their dad is saying as if it was a nightly prayer. That's just not him… or at least that wasn't so for Dean's baby brother.

"Man, it doesn't matter. I am just being all moody and everything, like… wearing off the last after-effects of teenage-being and everything, 's gonna pass soon, really, just… don't sweat it, okay?" Sam bargains, and this time Dean is beyond angry. He suddenly pulls the car over so that it comes to a halt on the dirty gravel. Sam holds on tight to whatever he can grab, eyes wide open and heart beating hardly in his chest.

"That's enough!" Dean growls, wildly gesticulating. Sam looks both surprised and terrified.

"What's wrong?" Sam frowns worriedly.

"What… what's _wrong_? You seriously ask?!" Dean exclaims.

"I… I'm sorry…?" Sam says, totally at a loss.

"Get out of the car, NOW," Dean orders, almost the same way John would do. And Sam surely listens to that. He directly exits the car. Dean is right behind him. He slams the door shut and walks over to Sam's side.

"Dean… I… did I say something wrong?" Sam asks, now almost afraid. Dean's fist tightens and he certainly is in Sam's personal space. Sam squints his eyes shut, looking horrified. He never witnessed Dean that angry at him, not even when he ran away from the family after a heated argument with their dad.

"Sam, _everything_ you say is wrong because you… you're not you, man! That's what's not right here! And I swear to God if you tell me just one more time _not to sweat it_ and that you being sad is going to _pass in a day or two_, I'll…," Dean growls, but then he looks at Sam, who, in all honesty, is terrified of his older brother. And that is not what Dean intended. He takes a few steps back, trying to ease. He has to change tactic, right now. Sam glances at him for a bare moment.

"I didn't mean to be so harsh…," Dean then sighs, defeated. He really didn't want to scare his younger sibling. He doesn't deserve that. The boy doesn't mean him any harm with what he does, Dean knows that.

"It's okay… you just scared me a little…," Sam admits flatly.

"I didn't mean to scare you, Sam," Dean says honestly. Sam nods at that.

"I know that, Dean… I was just _shocked_… coz I didn't see it coming," Sam admits.

"You never have to be scared of me, really, Sam. You gotta believe me that. I'd never intentionally harm you, you get me?" Dean says.

"Yeah, I know that, Dean," Sam nods. Dean takes another deep breath before he carries on.

"So Sam, what is it with you, for real this time? We are alone here, so dad's not in your neck. You can talk freely to me. You are not yourself, even if you try to convince me of the opposite. You're… since school's out I have to look twice to be sure it's actually my brother in front of me," Dean says, now allowing a little more emotion to show.

"Dean, I… I am just done with being all rebellious with dad. I understood it won't get me anywhere. It makes things worse for me. You saw it before, right? The results? Dad was pretty pleased about the research and everything. Since I stopped whining and all that, we argued about… eighty percent less, today being the exception. We don't butt-head all the time, you don't always have to play the mediator… isn't that something good?" Sam asks uncertainly.

"Sam, you don't have to change for dad… or for me. You're supposed to be you, Sam Winchester, with everything that makes you… _you_! With all the mistakes and abilities. You don't have to change because of us, even if dad and I might have given you the impression at some point that we want you to be someone else. We both want you to be you, Sam," Dean explains.

"I believe you that _you_ want me to be myself, but… dad? C'mon, Dean, he couldn't be happier about my make-over. He is damn pleased with the way I handle things now. He praises me more often and… I heard him talking… to you… he even says himself that it's the best that's ever happened that I decided to make some changes to my course. He likes me better now, right? At least he is rather pleased with this kinda Sam Winchester," Sam argues.

"Sam, he doesn't like you _better_ because you are doing something else! He _loves_ you, nothing is ever going to change that!" Dean shoots back, with honesty in his words.

"Well, he never praised me as much as he does right now. The best thing that's ever happened to him is… is my change," Sam retorts flatly.

"I know he said that and… I'll give him hell about this another time because it was totally stupid, but… but the best thing that's happened to him is his _family_, that was mum, that is you and me. He wouldn't love you any less with running around as a retarded punk with spiky green hair or if you'd do square dance. With you being rebellious and all that… he still loved you, _loves_ you, Sam," Dean argues.

"I know that dad loves the both of us. He's our dad, Dean. I am not totally stupid," Sam retorts with a sad smile on his face.

"No, you are definitely not stupid, Sam, but you make a mistake by thinking that dad would love you any less with you being you, alright?" Dean argues.

"I know he loves us, as I said. I just say… he… he _likes_ me better with being like this," Sam returns.

"And since when does that matter to you that much?" Dean huffs.

"Since I realized that everything is more harmonically because of that," Sam argues.

"Sam, you don't have to do that to keep peace in the family, that is not your job," Dean rolls his eyes. No, that is damn straightly _his_ job.

"Well, but with me being all bitchy, I ain't helping the situation either, right?" Sam argues.

"That is not for the matter. I don't say you got a free-pass to be an asshole, but you don't have to step down all the time just to keep peace in the house," Dean says.

"You might be right on that one, I am not that sure, though," Sam sighs.

"And anyways, I don't get it why you suddenly care so much for what others may think of you, Sam. You never cared for that. You always stood up to dad and you never changed your course at school, no matter how much of a hard time the kids gave you as the new kid," Dean disagrees.

"School's a different matter, Dean. That was just… superficial. You are my family and even if I always claimed that I never cared for what you think of me… I do care for it," Sam admits.

"But you don't have to be someone else to prove that to us," Dean argues.

Sam takes a deep breath, before he glances up to the night sky.

"I'm just tired, Dean. Can you imagine?" Sam says, suddenly, looking almost lunatic again, his voice almost hushed, in a faint whisper.

"Tired, how?" Dean frowns. Sam walks up to the hood and sits on the top. Dean joins him.

"I'm exhausted, Dean, simply… exhausted. To constantly argue with dad, butt-head with him on any given occasion, always be the disrespectful little punk who doesn't wanna hunt, but read Huck Finn instead, always be the… the guilty one, even if I do the right thing or not. To put you into the awful situation of playing mediator at all times… I'm tired of it. It's exhausting. You probably can't even imagine how much...," Sam explains, taking a second to glance his brother right in the eye.

"I mean, it's not like… being _physically_ tired, as if I could sleep it off or something, but I feel… tired on the inside. I am worn out. My mind and my heart… they feel like being overused from the overdrive of arguments and all that other crap. That is tiresome and it's hard to restore those energy resources. The arguing and all that, it's starting to make me sick… I've done this for… for _so_ long now, since I could speak I was probably always complaining, and since I know what dad's real job is… it's probably for the worst, right?" Sam huffs.

"No," Dean shakes his head.

"I was constantly running against a wall, head-on, and it fuckin' hurts to repeat it over and over again, just to realize the only thing that's tearing up is your skin as blood starts to splatter on the stones. I am done fighting imaginary giants… giants who turn out to be windmills in the end… I am tired of it, Dean. I am simply exhausted. I need a break from that," Sam says, sounding rather credible, even if Dean still is having a hard time believe that this is the main issue here. Sam leans back on the hood so that he can face the night sky which is simply beautiful, with bright white and blue lights filling the pitch black background. Dean leans back, too.

They used to do that ever so often, when dad was gone, where there was no one around. They would simply stop, park the car, lie on the hood of the Impala, and watch the stars. Sam would explain to Dean which constellation they were looking at, and Dean always exclaimed overly joyfully that he saw a shooting star, until Sam convinced him that it was just a plane passing by. They had spent hours that way, just the two of them, allowing themselves a break of everyday's world just once, and simply dream, not minding the rest for some time, in all silence or in laughter. However, those were probably some of the greatest times both _ever_ had.

"We used to do that a lot, in former times…," Sam exhales, glancing at the stars. It's still funny for Dean that Sam is, more than often, saying out loud what he is having on mind at the very same moment. Bobby always says it, the Winchester boys are attached by the asses since Sam's birth.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking about right now, too," Dean smirks. Sam glances at him briefly, offering a grin himself. After that his eyes shoot upwards again.

"I'm always a good mind reader," Sam chuckles.

"Yeah, at least when it comes to me," Dean laughs.

"You remember back in… Georgia?" Sam asks suddenly. Dean turns his head slightly.

"We were in Georgia more than one time, you'll have to be a bit more specific," Dean winks.

"Dad was mad at the both of us because we – instead of doing the promised research – went to the movies, one of those old horror movies you enjoy so much, wasn't it a Dracula remake or something…? Either way, dad was all over us, so you took me by the hand and we set off with the Impala… we drove like… thirty minutes, I think. We ended up on an empty road in the middle of nowhere. At first we had said nothing. We both felt guilty for firstly disobeying dad, for secondly talking back, and thirdly for taking off with the comment '_You suck sometimes, you know that_?' and then we just… we just started to laugh our butts off. I mean, we tried to stop, but whenever I looked at you or you looked at me… we simply cracked up laughing again… we sat down on the hood just like now and… we giggled till everything hurt. I think we spent half the night that way… it was simply awesome…," Sam remembers, his eyes glistering with his childish innocence once again. Dean would love to tell Sam right now to exactly stay that way, forever, but then he gives up on the idea. That would be too much of a chick-flick they are already having anyways.

"Yeah, that night was simply amazing… not so amazing was when we got back and dad made us run lap after lap after lap the next day…" Dean jokes, because he doesn't regret a second of this. It was one of the best days he's ever had, going to the movies with Sam, laughing about the ridiculous vampire, storming off, watching the stars, everything. It was a perfect day. And Sam thinks the exact same thing. It was one of the best days of his entire life and one of the most precious memories he has stored inside his heart.

"We had a good time back then," Sam sighs.

"_Awesome_ times… dude, we sound like old men," Dean chuckles.

"Coz we witnessed things worth two lives, so we are allowed to," Sam reminds him.

"Word, Sammy," Dean nods, a touch of sadness grabbing his chest. Sam is right with what he says. What those two saw and went through is something other people won't be able to comprehend in two lives. At some point they really are old men, thinking of the better times, when everything was straight-forward and the monsters under the bed could be scared away by daddy's good-night-kiss or his controlling look under the bed, not until later when he handed his sons a gun to take care of that bitch hiding underneath the bed.

"As the wise man I must be accordingly, of course I'm right," Sam snickers, before both fall silent another time, watching the stars.

"So… will you… you know, return to being… the rebellious you again?" Dean asks hesitantly.

"I don't think so, sorry, but… I'm just trying to figure myself out. And I think that's the only way I can handle, you understand?" Sam says, sounding rather credible.

"I will try, for your sake, but Sam, please, you gotta… you gotta watch the stars in a while," Dean speaks. Sam giggles at that.

"Chick-flick," Sam smirks bemused, Dean gives him a nudge, but then grins, too.

"So will you?" Dean says, ignoring Sam's joke, rather serious again. Chick-flick or not, he is making an effort here.

"Watch the stars? Sure, as long as you're there with me on the hood, dude…" Sam speaks, offering a gentle smile.

"And you say I am creating chick-flick, man!" Dean exclaims and both crack up laughing.

"_You_ started!" Sam shoots back, his head settling on the hood again.

"Well, so, you carried on, Francis!" Dean retorts.

"Oh, guess what!" Sam suddenly exclaims with overly joy in his voice, taking the focus off of the previous topic more than successfully.

"What?" Dean grins, again Sam sounded so much like a child again.

"You know what constellation is up there tonight?" Sam questions with a broad smile.

"Nope, don't have a clue, Sammy," Dean smiles. It's not really a question. Dean never knows what constellation is visible tonight. He rather waits for Sammy to tell him, because Sammy _always_ tells him. That is the whole point.

"That's Cassiopeia up there. I've never seen it that clear on the night sky, wow," Sam smirks.

"And where's that mysterious Cassiopeia now?" Dean asks playfully.

"Gimme your hand," Sam says.

"Sammy, I don't think I am ready for that step yet," Dean jokes. Sam gives a slight kick to his lower leg with a roll of his eyes.

"Ugh, not that way, you moron. Gimme your hand, I'll show you," Sam sighs as Dean stretches out his hand. Sam takes it, puts up his index finger, Dean doing the same, and then Sam smoothly moves their both hands. They used to do that the whole time as kids.

"Alright, from your point of view… it should be right here, that's Cassiopeia," Sam explains, outlining the shape with the index finger, and it's exactly the way it needs to be so that Dean can see Cassiopeia. Sam, even if he isn't in Dean's spot, knows exactly what perspective the older has from his position and the younger sibling doesn't have the trouble normal people have with explaining the location of the stars. Sam simply… _feels_ it… and makes it others feel the very same way…

"Looks pretty cool, Sammy," Dean says. Sam lets go of his hand and starts to outstretch his own fingers.

"It is…," he mumbles to himself, eyes getting lost in the infinity of the universe for a moment.

"What're you doing now?" Dean frowns.

"For one more time… I'm reaching for the stars…" Sam says, and Dean knows that Sam is having a tear in his eye. He knows that is are watery the very same way. Yet, neither one says anything about it. They simply silence and watch the stars. Dean is just glad he got his little brother back for just tonight, and he is not going to disturb that by pushing on the topic. He is afraid that bubble will pop before he gets the chance to look into Sam's eyes and see the former glister of childish curiosity, of everlasting depth, and unbreakable innocence in those hazels. So the older brother rather says nothing because some things don't have to be said in order to make their statement. Some things are off better without being said because they might destroy a dream that is so fragile that is about to break.

And that is when a falling star shoots across the sky, and this time doesn't say it's a plane, so Dean makes a silent wish that his Sammy is going to be there tomorrow again.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Year 1_**

"Seriously, why couldn't we take Sam along, dad?" Dean grumbles as they walk through the sinister forest to hopefully get rid of an old witch Sam located, of course with the ever so present folder to go along the way.

"Because I said so, Dean," John retorts gruffly. He hates it when either of his sons is whining about his orders. What he says is rule, easy as that.

"Well, and why then? He did nothing wrong since… since _ever_!" Dean exclaims. And yeah, Sam had been a bloody _saint_ since school was out – at least what the Winchester family considered as such. The folder-thing is a habit by now. Sam would only talk the most necessary words and majority of them were hunt-related, which sucked ass to Dean's liking since he desperately wanted Sam to muse about a new book he read or simply anything _but_ hunting… Dean didn't catch Sam very often being rebellious in any way, and if he did, it was mostly because he wanted to push on a hunt to get going, something like that, and their dad was all over him for that. And that was when Sam dropped the topic in defeat or bit his lip till they bled. However, Sam truly did nothing wrong anymore, and Dean actually missed that, missed it a lot.

"Yeah, and took him long enough to finally get this straight," John snorts.

"Argh, not that again!" Dean mutters.

"What?" John shrugs indifferently.

"You know what my opinion on that issue is and I really don't see that much of a great thing in that!" Dean exclaims.

"So why did you want to have me alone on that one? Sam's the best informed about that bitch. He even looked up all the stuff about the rituals and so on. He could probably recite the whole damn thing while I would have to read out loud that stupid sheet he wrote for me instead. I seriously don't get it why you leave the one _expert_ at home, dad," Dean murmurs as they proceed through the muddy ground and brushes. After all, that is not part of the game, not even now. Dad actually developed the habit to give Sam bigger roles each time, allowing him to take the lead at times, all the things he definitely didn't do when Sam was still Sam. Normally dad takes him along as the walking dictionary – he even said that in front of them both and Dean still hates their dad for that – to ask for information or locations or exorcisms, and one can be absolutely sure that Sam will know it all. However, this time, even with both Dean and Sam complaining about it, the father wouldn't withdraw, but persistently stated that Sam would not come along, no way.

"I wanted to talk to you alone, that's why," John sighs.

"And a hunt is the best occasion to do that? Wouldn't it be better to, you know… send Sam out to get food or… tell him to leave the room since he'd all obediently actually do so? Something like that didn't come to mind?" Dean grimaces. That certainly isn't the usual procedure of handling a talk, even for their standards, such a request of going on a hunt to have conversation is considered _weird_.

"I don't want him to know that we had that conversation, and Sam doesn't take long to get food, you know that. Even if we sent him all the way across town, he'd be back in no time. He'd walk in on us, most likely. So the hunt was the only possibility to get you alone," John explains. Dean bites his lip at that. He actually has to agree with his dad on this one, and it stings a little, too. Sam never takes long to get food, he used to, long time ago, when he would take his time, take in his surroundings for the beauty or curiosity of it and not just because he suspects a demon or so. However, now Sam is always hustling to be back ASAP, even if Dean told him several times he didn't have to rush it – because there is really no need. And there is no sense in sending Sam elsewhere. Dean tried couple of times to get Sam into _not-hunt-related-activity_, walked up to Sam as he stood in the room, pressed a crumbled ten-dollar bill into his younger sibling's hand, and told him to go see a movie, or do something, _anything_, he liked. If Sam didn't, "_by accident_," leave the money on the counter, he would either come back with something for Dean, would come back with fifty because he used it to hustle cards, and Sam is really great at that, buy food, or come back with new information on the current hunt. Dean still tries sometimes, even if he knows that he won't have success and is seeing that this money will never be spent the way the older brother wants to see it spent. For Sam there is no sense in going to the movies anymore or flirt with some girl with a few nice drinks or go to concert, anything, because he stopped being a child long time ago.

"Okay, Sherlock, so what is the matter now?" Dean huffs. However, his father won't even twitch at the sharp comment – uncommon, so this can't mean anything good.

"I ask you for a favor," John begins.

"Do you finally give it a shot and try another haircut?" Dean jokes.

"Dean, leave it. This is serious," John snaps. It doesn't take a genius to realize he is tensed.

"Okay, okay, sorry, Sir, so what is it?" Dean apologizes, searching his father's face for a hint, but he finds no obvious clue for that weird turn of atmosphere just now. Is it just him or should he have taken the thicker coat because _damn_, it feels cold all of a sudden!

"This is…" John exhales.

"Yeah?" Dean frowns.

"Uhm…" John grimaces, fidgeting for the words.

"Dad, c'mon, you're not the one to tiptoe around the bowl of milk, so just make the damn jump," Dean exhales, even if the nervousness is present in his voice.

"So listen. I… I have to take off for a while," John sighs heavily.

"_Take off for a while_? What do you mean by that?" Dean grimaces, feeling more than uncomfortable. He has a really dark suspicion, but that is so far out of this world, it can't be… or can it?

"I got a hint on the demon to finally get him by the balls," John explains drily.

"So? Then we should go there," Dean grimaces. Why would that be a matter John had to discuss with him alone, on a hunt? And take the hunt by himself?!

"No, I… there is no "_we_" this time… I… I have to do that by myself, Dean, _alone_," John states, much to Dean's shock.

"What?! Dad, you can't be serious! You gotta be kidding me! This has must some kinda joke! We always hunted together! Okay, Sam and I took a few by ourselves by now, but when it was about the demon… we always stayed together. What the hell, dad?" Dean exclaims utterly shocked.

"I'm not kidding you, Dean," John speaks drily.

"CHRISTO!" Dean exclaims, totally at a loss. He must be possessed, driven insane by some ritual or ghost. This simply can't be!

"Dean, I am not possessed or anything," John rolls his eyes, even if he is kind of proud his oldest is always on alert about these things.

"Well, you gotta be if you think about taking off!" Dean grumbles. That is not him, that is not his dad, _no_!

" It's important, really important, Dean. It is necessary that I go… alone… If I tail the demon that killed your mom, then it will be that hunt alone, just this one thing and nothing else. I realized that we are way too often distracted with other work – so much – that we forget the most important gig after all. However, someone has to continue with the other hunts, too, saving people, hunting the bad things out there. I told you several times before – that is our mission, or responsibility, the same way. And for that I need you two, Dean, you and your brother. I need you to carry on with the other hunts while I'll tail the demon," John speaks confidently.

"What kinda crap is that, dad? The number-one-reason why we are hunting is that damned demon! That's always been what you said and that's what you crushed into our heads since that night! We hunt coz of that thing that killed mom! And now we are one step closer to finding him, one step closer to the goal you set as Sammy's and my goal in life – and you don't want us in on that one? What about us, huh? Why don't we get to come with you? I really don't understand it! Why do we have to go on roasting Gremlins and all that shit while you are after the real deal!?" Dean exclaims angrily. Really, John had set their entire life around finding Azazel – everything – and now they both accustomed to that life, accepting the fact that their purpose in life was to find their mom's killer. That is why Dean had endured the childhood taken from him, that's why he had gone along with Sam being dragged into the business rather than having at least a taste of normalcy he never got to know, really. And now that they may get their chance to make that son of a bitch pay for all the sacrifices they had to make for his kill – their dad is going to do it solo?! And leave them to a life of meaningless hunts at the same time? How can he actually mean that?!

"Dean, that demon has priority. We have to get him," John sighs.

"Oh, and that's why you wanna get rid of the ballast, just take the most necessary baggage along with you? Is that the matter?" Dean retorts angrily. He can't even believe his father is saying this. He doesn't want them along because they are a burden to him? After all those countless times they saved his ass at the stake of their lives the same way? Suddenly they are no longer worth to put up with? How can a father actually say that to his son and still look at him feeling… right?!

"Dean, you know that I don't regard you that way, but you gotta realize that even if that demon is our number-one-reason to hunt, the other monsters out there can't be ignored. Dean, as a hunter you have to protect the people, yes?" John shoots back.

"Yeah," Dean grumbles. If it is one thing they learned over the past years, then it is that – regardless of the personal dangers – they safe people with what they do, they do something good. And if they only went after the demon, there would be many more victims, more people dead and more monsters out there.

"And that is why I need you to carry on with the other hunts. You save the people from the other scum while I tail the demon that killed your mother. I am confident you two will do just fine, the two of you together. I taught you everything I know. You two are ready for that," John speaks confidently.

"We are not ready for that, dad!" Dean argues. No, they are not ready to part from their father, give up on the mainframe of life – the family.

"Yes, you are, Dean. You have to be. You took hunts by yourselves by now, and you did perfectly fine, better than that, you and your brother showed perfect teamwork. Plus, you're not alone, son. You still have one another, keep that in mind. Now Sam is the hunting partner you need and you are the partner he needs, easy as that. I am no longer that necessary for that. I am more useful tailing that demon while you take care of the rest, Dean," John disagrees.

"You gotta be kidding me, really! Is today April-fools or something?!" Dean cries out in desperation. This has to be a joke. This simply can't be – no.

"Dean, listen…" John tries.

"No, I won't listen to this! This is just… no!" Dean exclaims, not knowing how to process that.

"Dean, it's the best we can do, to be the most effective – and that is what we need when it comes to hunting, you know that," John throws in.

"And why am I the one to get to hear all this now? Why isn't Sam with us to hear the _grand_ news, too?" Dean argues, using the sarcasm as a matter of self-protection because it is really hitting the teen right in the midriff at the moment and he would rather crack up crying just now as it feels worse than any pain he suffered through so far.

"I don't think it's a good thing to have him in on that one. He will push to… to… you know, come along, find out where I am, go after me rather than accepting that we have to split up. He would tail me, hitchhike, run all the way if it had to be, anything, you know him the best, son, he's way too stubborn" John explains drily. And yeah, Sam would exactly do that – even if Dean had him tied to some chair, Sam would bite his own arms off if that meant he could escape and go after their dad.

"Understandable reaction for a teen who just finished up school a year ago and is going to be dumped by his father after he held him close for his entire life…," Dean retorts furiously. After all, it is only understandable that a son doesn't accept the fact his father wants a solo-life from now on and leave him with his bother to still risk their lives – but only for the scum of it, so that dad has it easier with the big gig.

"Well, yeah, okay, given, but back then I didn't think I would get a hint that fast, that good, that damn close, Dena. I thought it would take at least a couple of more years to get there… till you were both older… but now the chance is there. We have to embrace it, son," John argues.

"Oh, okay, that is _reassuring_," Dean grumbles with a roll of his eyes. Sam is not the only one good at this, even if the younger sibling used to be an expert for that, _before_, when he was still joking around and less robot-like.

"Don't give me that," John says angrily.

"I give you all I want since that is the same thing you wanna do, so lick it," Dean grumbles.

"Dean, you are not to talk to me like that," John sighs. He gets it that this upsets his oldest, but that doesn't mean he has a free-pass for bitching around and being disrespectful.

"And you are not to leave either, dad, still you plan on doing it!" Dean retorts.

"It has to be because the chance is finally there, Dean. And the time turned out to be perfect anyways. I mean… Since Sam is out of school… he finally became the hunter that was kept dormant within him all this time. He'll do a good job at being your hunting partner, I know now. He proved a couple of times by now that he is. I mean… I never saw him that tight in his actions, as confident with the weapons, putting the required effort into sparring and all that, the training, the research until now… his mind is out of the clouds and that will help the both of you a great deal when you are on your own. That means you are safer, Dean. He finally is the partner you need to pull this off, just the two of you…," John explains, but Dean interrupts him in a harsh voice.

"He _always_ was the partner I needed, dad. He always, _always_ had my back! All those years he did! He always watched out for me, on a hunt, at home, at school! Always! Don't you ever dare say that again! That is not for the matter! Sam always has my back, the same way I have his – and that has absolutely nothing to do with his change since school's out! And the great things _you_ see in Sam's change are aspects I certainly start to _hate_ about him! He slowly but surely becomes a hunting _robot_! I hate the damned folders, I hate his shrugging, the way he moves, I hate the way he walks because it's nothing it like it used to be, I hate the way he talks now, that the only reading on his nightstand is no longer a version of "_The Old Man and The Sea_" – but instead a manual for "_Advanced Bow Hunting – Extended Version_," I hate it that he runs five miles a day, even _before_ the training, I hate the bruises I see because of his solo-training coz he feels the urge to catch up on things I don't even see as something he lacks, I hate his not-talking-back-attitude, I hate his way too perfect aim, I hate his self-punishment for messing up, that he is always beating himself up over your and my approval, I hate it all because your _so_ precious new Sam is… is not the Sammy I carried out the night mom died. That is a completely new person, and I swear to God I want the other one rather than this one just now! And you… you actually _appreciate_ that, you show him that every single day, you even push him further into the hole without ever thinking of the consequences! You don't even see how far Sam distanced himself from… from _himself_!" Dean exclaims. He wanted to tell John in a while, but just now turned out to be the perfect occasion since John shows the desperate need to _share something with the group_.

"You are being too dramatic, Dean. Sam's just… he's just falling into line, _finally_. We are not arguing anymore, he is on his highest level of skill now…," John shoots back, ignoring Dean's pleas that lay within that message more than clearly.

"Yeah, you are not arguing as much because he simply _gave up_! He gave in, he resigned! You even realize that Sam is biting his lower lip till it's _bleeding_ when he gets another blow from you for whatever reason? He surely never did that when you still tried to verbally bite each other's heads off! True, you don't butt-head the way you used to, but the arguments… they are simply _left unspoken_, nothing more. That is the only reason why they are not visibly there, but they _exist_, dad. You just don't wanna see them because you're too pleased with the way Sam _sucks it up_!" Dean exclaims furiously. Sam always bit his lower lip when he was frustrated or sad because of their dad, but never did blood trickle down his face until all this make-over-thing started. Now Dean has to take the younger sibling aside after a _non-argument_ with their dad, make the kid sit down, and clean him up because Sam – in that state – doesn't even realize the blood, doesn't feel the pain, he is too busy staring into nowhere, since he is even unable to hold eye contact with his brother once he is in that situation, and flexing his fists to control himself so that he doesn't get angry, so that he doesn't cry, so that the wall doesn't crumble, falter, fall.

"Yeah, finally my education is showing off, Dean. We both told him that he had to start to suck things up, but before, he simply refused and was bitching about everything and nothing," John argues.

"Well, so? He usually had a point there, not always, but many times! And that's not even the matter, dad, what is important is that he… At least he was truthful to himself back then! He was still Sammy, but now… now he's…," Dean shoots back, but he doesn't have the words for that description. Sure, this is still his younger brother, but at the same time he can't believe this teenager is supposed to be his little Sammy anymore.

"Sam is still your brother!" John retorts.

"Of course Sam is still my brother and I don't love him any less because of this! Sam's my kid brother. I carried him out of the flames. The bond between us is far stronger than anything I know. I love him more than I could ever love anything else in the entire world or universe even! That's not going to change, _ever_! But… you do realize that… that Sam's making those changes for you just as well? He does it to please you, dad. He wants your approval! That's the reason for the folders, that's the reason for the rough training, for the not-bitching! And now that you… you finally… that he finally gets the feeling he is hitting the right course with you… then you plan on taking off without even telling him something about it? You can't do that, dad. You can't do that to him, please, I beg you. You gotta talk to Sam. You have to tell him!" Dean almost pleads now, for Sam, for him. He believes neither one could take that, no he _knows_.

"No, Dean. Your brother is best off with him not knowing until I am across the borders or even further and he has no chance of tracking me down. If he knew, we would only run the danger he goes after me and perhaps something happens to him along the way, we can't risk that… He'll be down for some time, given, but then he'll deal with it and will understand that it needs to be done. He is a hunter long enough to figure the reasoning once he pushed the irrational feelings away and sees things clearly. But he will have to deal with those irrational feelings until he gets there. And for that I need you, Dean. You have to watch your little brother during that time especially. You have to keep him grounded, have to make sure he doesn't come looking for me. You have to convince him that you have to work on the hunts, have to pick up where the three of us left off. You have to watch him," John says rather forcefully.

"Don't you want to say to watch _out_ for him?" Dean retorts angrily. It sounds like Dean is not supposed to play bodyguard, but the police officer with handcuffs to get Sam to shut up if needed.

"That of course, too, but you do that the very best when you watch him, Dean, closely. Sam is under control right now. He's tamed. It's a critical state and he might just jump back to being a rebellious punk who would rush to any state to find me, at any costs. We can't afford that, son," John argues.

"I can't believe you say that! Sam's not an _animal_! He doesn't need to be _tamed_! Sam is a human being, he is your _son_ for Chrissake!"Dean shouts, feeling incredibly furious now. He isn't even sure if he is really looking into the face of his father now because those words… they are too surreal to be true, they simply can't be true.

"And because he is my son I have to protect him. I have to protect the two of you! I have to separate from you because I have to, Dean. I don't have another choice! That is the only thing I can do. I know the timing is crappy and I wish it would work in a different way, but believe me when I say that this is the only way out," John says, sounding a little more emotional for his standards. Dean glances at him, disbelieving. He even heard a flicker of a sob within John's voice.

"Oh, and _I_ don't have any say in this? I mean, you bring me out here to talk, but… but your plan's already set, right? You didn't tell me so we could discuss this – you knew from the start that this was the way things are to happen, before you even opened your mouth. So why all this? Why even bother about that conversation? Have me in on that bloody secret? Why do you tell me any of this? You could have just as well told me nothing and then when the time comes, you just leave a note and what? 100 bucks? Like you used to when we were still kids! Why did you let me in on this secret if… if this is the outturn anyways?" Dean questions, now with tears standing in his eyes. Now that the secret starts to unfold in front of his eyes, the teen doesn't want to know what is inside that Pandora Box anymore. He just wants to close it and never open up again, simply forget that it actually exists.

"You are strong, Dean. You are the big brother. And you're the one person Sam always listens to eventually. To _you_, he _will_ listen. And that is crucial. You have to keep a calm head in the situation. I need you to do that one thing for me. Keep Sam away from me for a couple of days when the time comes and then you just… then you just go back to simply being the big brother you are. You are there for him, help him cope with it. You help Sam, Sam will help you… and after some time… you two continue hunting and… and soon after things will get better, Dean…," John assures the younger man.

"Sounds _terrific_! Now you want me on this one as your third man, to betray Sam in such a way? Lie to him? You want me to work behind Sam's back and still greet him with a "_good morning_" fuckin' everyday as if nothing of the shit's ever happened!? As if this talk didn't happen or that you told me about your fuckin' plans beforehand?! I'm supposed to comfort him even though I knew this pain was to come from the very start – and I didn't prevent it!? You actually burden your own sons with such a… a… betrayal?" Dean retorts, both angrily and sadly at the same time.

"Dean, you are _not_ betraying your brother. You're just not telling him where I am coz you don't even know. That is not lying to someone. You don't know about it and… for the rest… you simply leave him in the dark about this conversation. And besides that, you calm him, that is all, there is nothing wrong with that," John argues.

"It is, _everything_ is wrong about that! What you just said is not a lie is what you told us to be a lie since I can remember! Not telling the truth is the same thing as telling a lie! Dad, that's what you taught us all those years and demanded from us, if not for the job! And anyways! How am I supposed to calm Sam, huh? After his own father in the blood ditches him?!" Dean exclaims. What words would suffice to offer comfort in such a situation? Especially for Sam? How could the older brother actually calm him down after he learned that their own father left them and that he didn't tell him about it? How? Is there some kind of ten-points-plan that will cover up for that? Then, fine, but if not, then their dad can take it and shove it right up his ass!

"I don't know, Dean just tell him _something_. You know I never had the vibes with him, not like you do. You will come up with something for sure. He always listens to you. Already as a kid," John grimaces.

"Yeah, but how am I supposed to look him in the eye and tell him what I always told him, that it's going to be alright? How am I supposed to tell him such a lie, something that always meant truth for the both of us? I promised him to make it better and in some way I always managed, sooner or later. You can't take that away from me, dad, please. That will destroy everything. This will… Sam will no longer trust me and those words. They'll become meaningless," Dean yells. When Dean comforted Sam, he would always tell him that it'll be alright, and even if he could not always fix the core problem, he made it better in some other way. He took Sam to the movies after a bad argument with their dad, or he stayed with him for the rest of the night when the nightmares were too much to handle for his kid brother, pat his back and hum some soothing song so the kid felt a little better and safer. Dean could always do something, but if those words were used as a lie, for John, then Sam would lose faith in those words, and eventually in Dean, too, because it has always been Dean to tell him so and it has always been Dean's promise to Sam, building the mainframe of a trust going deeper than normal people can imagine. And Dean doesn't want to lose that faith because that will take Sammy away from him, even more than he already is by now. John simply can't do that to him!

"Dean, you're exaggerating. If you sell it the right way, then…," John tries, but is interrupted by Dean:

"Right, and that is the core problem! I can't _sell_ that to Sam! This always meant a promise. And you don't sell a promise. You make it and keep it!"

"Dean, c'mon," John sighs.

"No, I don't even get this! Why should I hold him back? Tell him those lies? Shouldn't I better go ahead and confront him with the truth? Like you do so many times?" Dean huffs. John always confronted Sam with the truth. "_Sam, we are leaving now and no, you don't get the chance to tell anyone goodbye. We leave in five_," "_Sam, this monster will kill you if you give it the chance, it will rip out your guts and eat them while you watch them convulsing for the last time, yeah, just like that_," – and John really had said that to his thirteen-year-old son on one of the first hunts – "_Sam, dream-time is over, you gotta focus on the hunts from now on, or else you get Dean or I killed. And do you really want that, huh? Do you really want that? Do you want Dean killed, huh? Huh? Huh_?" "_Yeah, Sam, that is your mother, yeah, she is dead, so don't ever ask again, now read the exorcisms I gave you_," – and that was when Sam was still too small to understand what really happened to his mum and still believed she died in a car accident and he just searched for a photograph after Dean had told him how pretty she had been, and Sam wanted to know how she looked like, of course John didn't know and care for that – "_Sam, this is your fault_," – and that was after any injury Dean suffered, even if it hadn't been Sam's fault – "_Not good enough, again_," – after every damn shot Sam made with any kind of weapon, Sam could have bull's-eyed the thing and still it wasn't good enough for the great John Winchester – "_Sam, you can be so worthless at times_," – after every damn argument in all kinds of variations – "_Sam, come here, you little shit, I'm talking to you, young man_!" – only to rule over Sam and give him the last blow to crash and shatter even the last fragments of Sam's pride or happiness – "_Sam_!" – when Sam wouldn't listen and still turned his back to him, even if he could barely hold back his tears, only to prove his point, even going as far as to leave just because the youngest couldn't stand the mal treatment anymore – "_SAM_!" – always the last blow to make him turn around and go to the room, or run the other damned lap, even if he fainted after that. Yeah, normally, John always is the one to confront one with reality, or at least what he considered as such, right in one's face.

"This is a matter of precaution, to protect Sam, believe me. It's for the boy's good," John tries to assure the younger man.

"And what is for _my_ good doesn't matter in this? That I will have to live with that betrayal? Will have to face Sam everyday and hope he doesn't see my lie? You really believe I can live with such a lie for the rest of my life? If I ever get _that_ far coz even you said that Sam is the best of the family reading people. He looks me in the eyes just once… and he'll know something's off. He always knows, just by the tone of my voice, dad. Sam will know right away. He will simply know! And believe me, _if_ he finds out… he will hate me, dad, he will hate me for that, my little brother is going to hate me, and I couldn't even blame him. He will run away and will never-ever talk to me again. He will hate me for not telling him, for the rest of his life and he will only remember me as the big brother who broke his heart and told him such a lie, broke the promise I gave him. You can't do that to me, dad. You can't take Sammy away from me!" Dean cries. No, that his father considers leaving his bad enough, but the thought that John might have the power to take the most precious thing on earth from Dean away on tops of everything, that is too much, simply too much. Dean would rather drown himself in a lake than living without his kid brother.

"No one is taking Sam away. You exaggerate, Dean," John argues, visibly uncomfortable about his son crying for that reason.

"Yeah, well, that's easy to say for the dude who won't have to bother himself with putting up with Sam after said person set off for a hunt on his own!" Dean retorts angrily gritting his teeth.

"Dean, believe me that it is not an easy choice I make. I really would rather stay with you to protect you, but I… I don't have a say in this one. I bothered my head over this and I figure this is the best shot I have to offer. My resources are limited, too," John explains, almost apologetically.

"Screw that, dad! I am not going to help you on that on! That is simply… too much! You can't demand that from me, no!" Dean exclaims.

"Dean, I need your help! I can't do it without you! This has to be done!" John argues.

"No, simply… _no_! You are on yourself on that one, dad! I simply can't help you on that way, no," Dean shakes his head.

"Dean!" John exclaims.

"I'm not going to play punching ball for you! I am not going to make both of us the sacrifice for your damned wish to hunt down that fuckin' demon!" Dean states, gritting his teeth grimly.

"Oh, so you don't want to catch him?" John shoots back.

"Of course I want to get the demon by the balls, but not _that_ way. This is not… _right_, and you know that, dad!" Dean disagrees. To him it is just as much of a matter of heart as it is to John. This bastard killed his mother, for Chrissake. Dean wants to see that dude ripped apart shred by shred, but not at Sam's cost, not in a lifetime. Then Dean would rather stop hunting the bastard if that meant his Sammy wouldn't be forced to go through such a hell.

"I am not going to change my mind, Dean. This will happen sooner or later," John says forcefully.

"Oh, so now it's an ultimatum? Well, that is just _outrageous_, dad! This is getting better and better by the minute!" Dean exclaims sarcastically. That is his way of handling a situation that grave. Sarcasm has always Dean's matter of protection, to put up his self-defenses.

"Well, Dean, you don't leave me much of a choice here… and even if I honestly don't like to put things that way… once I am gone… what is the best to do with Sam? Is it going to be good for him to allow him to chase me? Drive himself nuts on the search across the US?" John quarrels.

"Oh _wow_, once again, that is _so_ adult of you, dad. Now you try to put the blame on _me_?" Dean questions ironically, though sadness lies within every word he speaks.

"No, Dean. Just think about what is the best for Sam," John argues, now sadly, too.

"Best would be if you stayed," Dean snorts.

"No, it's not. There are aspects about this that I can't tell you about, but you gotta believe me that the situation doesn't allow your safety when you are with me on that one," John explains, sounding rather credible with his words.

"Oh, great, well, that's _reassuring_ coz you could probably get killed and we wouldn't even know it was happening! And you are there without any kind of backup! Yeah, _awesome_ plan, dad, I am bound to say," Dean rolls his eyes.

"I'm _not_ getting myself killed, Dean, but I am afraid I might get _you_ two into trouble I can't get you out of. Please, believe me. It is just to protect you. That is all I am living for, to protect my sons. You are my family, the only one I got left. You are my sons. You have priority. I have to try anything to keep you safe, I gotta protect my family, even if it means I have to leave you… but that plan doesn't work with you and me together," John explains, swallowing a heavy lump that settled in his throat.

"And what is it that makes it _so_ impossible for us to stay as a family?" Dean asks weakly.

"I wish I could tell you…," John sighs.

"Yeah, must be one great secret you're having, dad…," Dean snorts.

"It is, Dean. I… Now, look at me. I mean it. I can't tell you, even though I wish I could, from deep inside. I would love to tell you everything, but I _can't_…," John speaks, looking Dean right in the eye, and the younger man can see tears in his eyes, honest tears, desperate tears. Dean's shoulders slump at that. Is their dad really that far out of resources that this is the only way out? If that is the case… then the situation must be really desperate. Dean can't remember the last time he saw his father cry.

"Dad, this is getting out of control," Dean states faintly.

"I know that, Dean, believe me. I wish I could change it, but… this is simply out of my league. I have to work on this and I need you to watch Sam. I need your help, Dean. I can't do it alone," John speaks.

"You don't know how this is going to turn out," Dean argues gloomily.

"I don't, but when do we know?" John retorts sarcastically, though teary.

"Never," Dean sniffles.

"So will you help me?" John asks.

"I don't know, dad… this is simply… I have to think this through…," Dean says weakly, uncertainly. He doesn't know what is right or wrong anymore. His entire world was turned upside-down without him seeing it coming. At first, in the beginning of that conversation, Dean couldn't have been surer of what is black and what is white, about John leaving them, about lying to Sam, but now that he looked into his father's desperately pleading eyes… all changed. If he is that desperate, then maybe it really is the only chance he has, gong away and all? Who is he supposed to believe in? What is right? What is wrong? What is the best for all of them? What is the best for Sam? Where the hell did they go wrong so that things turned out that way?!

"You have to," John sighs, pleading a little.

"I just don't know how I am going to make Sam buy that story, if I actually agreed to this…," Dean says mindfully.

"Then you have to be convincing, Dean. We all have to make sacrifices in this. Believe me that I don't _want_ to leave you two, but it's necessary. We don't get to choose sometimes and even if it is unfair at times, we still have to do it because there is no one else to do it, Dean," John reminds his oldest son. He delivered that speech so many times that any of them lost count of it.

"And why is it always _us_?" Dean sighs. Really, why their family? Why them? Isn't it enough that they already lost their mom to this job? Isn't that sacrifice enough? Or isn't it enough demanded from a family to kill beasts for such a long time? Why are they dragged into things bigger than them, darker than anything one can know? Why is it the Winchesters and always the Winchesters having to make the sacrifices for the world?

"Because we are seemingly able to cope with it, Dean. We can take it because our family is so strong," John says, trying to sound confident through his cracked voice.

"I hope you don't overestimate our bonds, dad. Right now I am afraid our family – as we used to be one – is falling apart in front of our eyes," Dean argues gloomily. And that is because the hope of this family, the baby boy, is tearing himself to shreds. If Sam gets lost, then this family will be damned just as well. Sam, so his mother had always said, was the sunshine of this family because he giggled the sweetest and most innocent way either one of the Winchesters had ever witnessed. Sam made them all lighten up, even when times were gruff, at least that used to be the case. For Dean this applies till today, but if Sam breaks, if the damage becomes that irreparable, then the Winchester family will only be a heap of shards that falls into sinister silence as time carries on in a wicked carousel as it turns around and around and around and around.

"For now let's not think about it, Dean. I think we are close by the house of that bitch! There is white smoke, that way," John suddenly exclaims, pointing at the line of thin white smoking ahead of them. Dean knows that feelings are left home when they are on the hunt, or for now the forest has to serve as a home because if they want to get that bitch, they have to be on it a hundred percent.

"Guess what…," Dean then says, faintly, gulping twice.

"What?" John frowns.

"Probable locations," Dean exhales, through pursed lips.

"Yeah?" John grimaces.

"Sam marked a map for us beforehand, with a hot zone… but he also marked off most likely places. He hit the target head-on…," Dean sighs.

"Well, you see? Sam's getting better at this job. Give it some time and he'll handle _anything_," John smirks, now looking so fucking confident in his words and belief that this plan of his is to work out – perfectly – as if this conversation didn't even take place.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that… I wouldn't be so sure…," Dean sighs as they walk up to the small wooden house and Dean doesn't even squint to finish that bitch off, he actually finds somewhat pleasure in letting out all the anger and frustration on that woman. His mind is set on Sam anyways and what is best for him and what is going to happen to him.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Thanks for reading this - and for the nice reviews! Hopefully, you'll enjoy ;)

This chapter contains quite some swear words - and John is being very mean. If you don't like that... you can close your eyes for those parts ;)

* * *

**_Week 3 before Graduation_**

"But dad!" a desperate Sam Winchester exclaims.

"No arguing about it, Sam! You know that we have other business to take care of first!" John retorts gruffly. He is sitting in the old leathery armchair opposing to Sam, who is standing, breath hitched, mimic in a desperate grimace.

"But dad! This is about graduation! I'll receive my diploma that day!" Sam exclaims. This is important to him and it's unfair, so fucking unfair that dad even wants to take that away from him. Can he really be so cruel to do that?

"They can send you the damned sheet via mail just as well, young man. We have to take care of that Wendigo. Sam, people's lives depend on it!" John growls.

"It is just _one_ damn day, dad, one day and I am all yours! I only want that one godforsaken day for myself, please! I'm not even talking about senior trip or the after-party or the prom or the… the… It's just about the ceremony! It is only a day, dad, please!" Sam shouts, tears in his eyes. To Sam it only matters to be there during the ceremony. He wants to get the diploma, do what he wanted to do, tell his friends goodbye and then leave for good. Sam is not living in illusions. He always knew those other things never were an option, but this one thing he should get. Even Dean had graduation, the proper way, whether or not he liked it. The hell, he didn't. Dean wore the cap, threw it in the air, and had the stupid diploma handed to him, to which he only made a victorious pose to show everyone: "_Yeah, that's right, Dean Winchester got that stupid thing, even if he doesn't care. Watch my back, folks_!" And now Sam won't even get _that_!?

"One day that might cost someone's life. Do you really want to be responsible for that death, Sam? Do you really think you'll be able to live with that kinda guilt?" John argues gloomily. And Sam is visibly shaken by that statement.

"What? I'm not… we are not responsible for that damned Wendigo! That _thing_ decides to kill! I am not killing anyone!" Sam shoots back. John never said such a thing to him before, he never dared to blame either one of his sons for the victims of those beasts. Dad always told them that it was not their responsibility and that they should never blame themselves for the victim's sake. He said that this would destroy them, eat them up, but now the very same man tells Sam that it is his responsibility and that he should blame himself for that _maybe_-victim's sake?!

"Yeah, but you're not there to prevent the death either, Sam. Instead of hunting that thing and saving people, you want to spend a day in a fuckin' gym to run around in a ridiculous looking dress and listen to stupid brass band music. _You_ put that in front of a life, Sam. You have his or her blood on your hands just as well as that damned Wendigo has the blood on its claws!" John growls.

"I can't believe you even say that, dad!" Sam cries out in both shock and anger. He just put his own son on the same step as something as low as a _Wendigo_, something they hunt, kill, something they don't consider worth a living, but a _threat_. How can his own father say that to Sam?! And _mean_ it!?

"I'm just telling you the truth, Sam. And truth to be told, once last day of school is over… then school's over!" John says with a playful grin on his face. So that was the meaning behind all this, why he had agreed to that. From the beginning he planned on taking off before graduation! Sam growls deep in his throat.

"But it's _graduation_, dad. I already bought the tassel and everything. I spent all my money on it to buy the damn outfit. I worked my ass off for that money in that friggin' supermarket since we are here. Do you know how many boxes I carried back and forth to afford these?! I went as far as to sell my CD-player for half it's worth to pay for the gown and everything. They even made me _orator_, dad! I already wrote my speech and…," Sam tries to argue, but John interrupts him another time.

"I don't give a shit on a stupid _speech_, Sam. That is nothing that will save a life, kill a monster, or exorcise a demon. So what use is that speech, huh?" John argues. Of course that argument had to come, that's always been _the_ argument created for John Winchester alone. If it doesn't have any practical use, you can flush it down the toilet. And that is also something that creates the big gap between Sam and his father. He doesn't understand the value Sam, for instance, can see in literature, what it gives to him, the emotions, the thrill, the excitement, the feeling of being praised for a school project on something as "_ridiculous and useless_" as the economic effects of the Great Depression in America, Martin Luther King, or _Of Mice and Men_. It doesn't give John anything to eat, kill, or pleasure himself with. Therefore, it's not worth anything, even if it means the world to Sam, at least the world other than the family, the world of his mind, where he can _imagine_, imagine things greater than a Wendigo, a vampire, a werewolf, a ghost, a ghoul, where danger can be something uplifting, nothing that necessarily gets you killed, where the world can be bright for just once, where people don't die in fires or are killed by some beast. However, that is something John never understood, never wanted to understand to begin with and will probably never understand, till the end of his days.

"It is important to me to give that speech. It simply matters to me, dad!" Sam exclaims. Really, he can't repeat that often enough inside his head: That is so typical for John Winchester. Anything that isn't required for a hunt is unworthy, unworthy the existence. And Sam, for a very long time, actually believed that, since he was not as good in hunting as his older brother, that he was unworthy living as well. It was Dean who always told him how much he mattered and that is when Sam started to embrace the idea of him being important to someone, to have a worth in this world, and it hadn't been because of his father. And now his dad is standing in front of him and delivers the very same stupid argument again. Really, this is one of Sam's personal nightmares in endless loop.

"You know, we had a deal, Sam…," John says.

"What kinda deal?" a voice rings through the room. Dean just came back from getting food from the closest diner. It doesn't take a genius to know that the other two Winchesters are in the middle of an argument, but a"_deal_" is even new to Dean. The oldest son quickly sets down the bags of food, fighting off his jacket in the same motion to take his place between Sam and John – _as always_, even if he, for himself, wants to know what the hell is going on here just as well.

"Nothing of your concern, Dean. Sam, you know what it was!" John says gruffly.

"Yeah, I know, dad. Deal was that we can stay in this town till school's out and for that I'd stop arguing about family business…" Sam sighs, still fighting back tears. Dean frowns at that. The older brother was well aware of Sam's desperate wish to attend the graduation ceremony, but that he would go as far as to… to stop arguing about the hunts, that's like taking paint and brush away from an artist. Moreover, Dean was kind of curious because they stayed in that town for five full weeks now, with no great gig to work on, only local stuff, small salt-and-burns, exorcisms and so on. However, the older brother simply _wanted_ to believe that their dad would be so "_nice_" to allow Sam towards finals to set his mind on his studies and that this would be the reason, _of course_ that just turned out to be a sweet dream of Dean's, for Sam's sake anyways. And on tops of everything, Dean surely has something against Sam and their dad making such deals, behind his back.

"Exactly," John smirks cockily, feeling superior once again.

"But graduation day is part of the school event! That is my official last day, dad!" Sam exclaims.

"No, last day is the last time you see the inside of a classroom, at least that's _my_ definition. You said till school's out, well, and school's out before graduation, Sam," John smirks maliciously. Sam's jaw drops visibly, his mouth gaping. He can't believe that his dad could be so cruel to trick him that way. Sure, John pulled a lot of things on him, but that goes too far. John might be many things, but normally he is at least an honest and straight-up asshole, not the one to act behind your back, but be directly in your face to tell you how much you suck. At least that was why Sam had accepted and gone with all the arguments over the past years – better like this than behind the back and hatred growing till it bubbles up in the most unpleasant way. Or so he had told to himself, but just now John turned out to be everything Sam didn't even consider him, everything he never wanted his father to be like. And the youngest certainly never expected their dad to be so mean to do that to him.

"Are you serious?! Dad, it is just _one_ more bloody fuckin' day until graduation! And you give me hell about that?! You, the man who is always for straight-up talk, you are the one to lose yourself in grammatical orders to nullify this deal?! Are you kidding me!?" Sam exclaims in total disbelief.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a sec. Dad, since when are we making deals for such a reason?" Dean interrupts. Usually he is always on John's side, but it never happened before that John made a deal with any of the sons, and then without Dean knowing of this. He orders them to do things, fine, but he doesn't take advantage of them, not like that, and never of Sam. That goes a little too far, even for _Dean's_ liking. And Dean understands that Sam wants to do that ceremony-thing. It is important to him, easy as that. What he _can't_ understand is his father's stubbornness to forbid Sam to attend graduation, though.

"Since your brother is a selfish punk who puts a stupid _ceremony_ in front of the lives of innocent people!" John snorts.

"Dad, graduation is something important to Sam. He's supposed to do the orator and everything…," Dean argues. Of course he knew about these things, probably in contrast to John. Sam had told him first thing when Dean came to pick him up from school and the younger sibling was so full of cheerfulness that he could barely hold it together. It was one of the few times Dean saw Sam so happy about being assigned a certain position. Usually Sam being assigned a certain position means the way they enter a hunt, where he mostly ends up the monkey in the middle, and Sam always hates that, or who does what part of research or who is the attacker and defender in sparring. But Sam, on that day, was really happy, since a long time finally again, and Dean is angry at John for destroying that happiness of Sam's. Sam deserves happiness, as much as they can afford to give him, no even more than that. He, to Dean, deserves all happiness in the world. The older brother is just lacking the means to give it to the youngest, but he would, if Dean had the chance. And that should, no, _must_ apply for John the same way. Sam is their little everything, the youngest, their treasure. He had to grow up in all that shit, so he should be allowed to be kid for at least a little while.

"And people dying is _so_ far less important than a two-minute speech about school spirit and that there is only one juice for every attendee?" John shoots back.

"Well, it seemingly is important to Sam to deliver that speech. Even if I am not that much into such things, it's alright with me that he wants to do it. He worked his butt off to get the diploma and to give that speech, dad. And Sam's almost an adult now. He can make at least some little decisions by himself now," Dean argues.

"I am the one making the last decisions, Dean!" John retorts angrily.

"Yeah, we all know that, dad, but why can't you allow Sam to have his stupid graduation, huh?" Dean sighs. He knows Sam doesn't mind that he calls it _stupid_ now because both know that Dean has interest in that ceremony, for Sam's sake.

"Because I say so!" John growls.

"Wow, that's really adult-like, dad," Dean says with a huff.

"Dean, you are not to talk to me like that!" John threatens.

"Well, I am not the one yelling since… probably thirty minutes non-stop about what you consider a waste of time anyways," Dean shoots back. If it was all so little that it's not worth discussing, then why does John put so much effort into this and argues that loudly and persistently? Normally, if things are really that much of a waste of time to him, then he simply yells a command and then shuts up, period.

"Dean, you are not involved into this anyways. You should better step down now and let your brother and me sort things out. I originally didn't intend to argue with you on tops, so you don't have to throw yourself into the line," John orders.

"It _involves_ me because you are my family and because Sam asked me to be there that day. I am not going to break a promise if I can help it somehow," Dean shoots back with fiery green eyes. He never broke a promise he made to his brother and he isn't going to start that just now. Even when he promised a thirteen-year-old Sam Winchester that he was going to be there after he would wake up from the surgery, which had to be performed after a werewolf almost impaled the younger boy with its claws, and after three hours of surgery, four hours in recovery, and another few hours it took for Sam to come around, Dean was there all the way and was the first one to greet his little brother. Dean didn't even take a leak during the time, just to be sure he would be truthful to his promise. And Dean is not willing to break that new promise just now. Sam had asked him to come the day he was informed about being the orator. The younger brother was overly nervous, sweating, hitched breathing, squeaky voice when he finally stuttered the request by late evening, probably mulling this over ever since school was out. And even if Dean would have _loved_ to laugh at him for that reason, when he heard Sam almost _pleading_ him to come, pleading him to understand why he wanted him there, Dean realized how much it actually mattered to Sam to deliver that speech – in front of his family. And that is when he knew he had to be there, and that is exactly what Dean had told the younger brother. Sam's face seemed to _shine_ when he heard about it and he even gave Dean a brief hug, not knowing how else to express his feelings. And how could Dean possibly deceive Sam after something like that? What kind of big brother would that make him?

"What? Sam, are you kidding me? Now you drag your brother into this on tops of everything ? Do you have even the slightest bit of pride inside of you? You _intentionally_ dragged your brother into this just so that you would have him on your side, fighting the struggles you would have to stand up for?! Dean, you can't always fight for your little brother, and Sam, you shouldn't use Dean that way!" John speaks. Sam's mouth shapes an O upon hearing this. Dean's eyes wander between the two, equally shocked as his brother, but for a moment the older sibling is actually afraid Sam might fall over upon receiving that kind of insult. Sam's face is as white as a sheet of paper, his eyes terrified, stance uncertain and wobbly. However, Sam steadies his feet, fists clenching.

That is one of the worst things his father ever said to him, even worse than the time he told a fifteen-year-old Sam that – to quote him – Sam is "_a waste of time_". That was after Dean was knocked unconscious by a vengeful spirit and John had claimed that Sam was responsible for it because he left his mark open, so that the spirit could attack, even if it was in fact John who didn't look to the left to see the spirit coming. How else would it have been possible that it was indeed _Sam's_ round of rock salt that dispersed the spirit so that they could get some distance between them and the thing – and _not_ John's? Yet, Sam never told him. The youngest never argued about that because it didn't matter to him, never did. What mattered to him back then were Dean and his health, and even if his dad put a lot of effort into playing the blame-game, Sam simply let him have it. The youngest didn't even complain when he had to do extra-tasks in training for almost two months, so much that he almost fainted three times throughout the sessions and Dean was cursing at the father more than often to finally knock it off. Funny enough that Sam hadn't even told Dean that it was in fact their dad who had messed up. To Sam it really didn't matter who it was in the end, and he knew the same was true for Dean. Even if it had been the case that Sam left the mark open, Dean would never have blamed the younger sibling for doing so. The older brother would have comforted him, no matter what, would have told Sam that he was too young and too untrained to do everything perfectly tight on a hunt yet. And that was why Sam had decided not to tell anyone. _He_ knew the truth, and that was enough. He knew it wasn't his failure, and that even though John had told him exactly that, that he was a "_failure_", Sam said nothing about it.

However, the words John said just now, they hurt Sam in a way he can't even describe. The fact that John believes his youngest would intentionally want Dean any harm or use him for his own benefit is something he can't believe. _Never_ would Sam do that, never in his entire life would he put the most important person in his life on the line for something like that. Dean matters more to Sam than the graduation, more than the speech, more than school, more than everything in the world. How could his dad possibly dare to accuse him of the opposite?

"I… I didn't use him, dad! What are you saying!? I would never-ever in my entire life do such a thing, not even consider! No! Never! Never! _Never_! Dean's my brother! He's my brother and I love him! _That's_ why I asked him to come! Because I love him I wanted him there! I didn't have anything in mind when I invited him! _Nothing_, you hear me!? That had nothing to do with him being on my side in the argument, to take my side! It was just because he is my brother and I thought he was the one person to actually care for that stupid thing I have going on there, for _your_ standards anyways! I asked Dean because he is the only one of the family to actually care for this, for the graduation, for _me_! How can you actually believe that I would do such a thing, dad? Do you really think that low of me? Huh?" Sam yells, so loud that even Dean jumps at the force of the younger sibling's voice. It takes a lot to drive Sam to the point, so this is really, really bad.

"You know better than that! You know _me_ better than that! You know I would never use Dean for whatever reason! I'd _die_ for him on any of the hunts! I would dodge any bullet for him, I'd sell my soul for his sake, dammit! You know all that! You are the one to raise us that way! Family comes first, rings a bell? Huh? _I_ live truthful to that, at least I try everything within my powers to live up to that! Dean is my family and he always comes first for me! _He_ comes first, and that's why he was the first I told about me being orator, that's why he is the first one I asked to come! Even if all that doesn't matter to _you_, dad, it matters to _me_. And because it matters to me I asked Dean about those… those stupid things that have no value in your eyes. I asked Dean about something that is so important to me because _he_ is so important to me! That's the only damn reason I had when I asked him!" Sam continues in his tantrum, his breath hitching almost painfully.

"And deep inside I hope you are just saying that because you're damn angry! I couldn't look you in the eye ever again if I knew you actually meant that! I really couldn't…," Sam curses, but towards the end his voice breaks as the tears almost take over. Yet, he gathers himself: "And even if probably none of this got past that dense head of yours, perhaps logic will get past your ears: If I really wanted to use Dean in any way to have him on my side during this fuckin' argument about graduation, then why would _I_ choose a time where he would be out to get food? Why would I choose a time when he isn't even present, _huh_? Can you tell me that? So you come again with me being such a jackass to actually use Dean and I'll…" Sam shouts, chest heaving, throat hurting. But that had to get out, it just had to.

"You don't get to threaten me, young man! You are not to talk to me like that! Now get out of my sight or else I'll make you! Go to your room, right now! And I don't want to see your face before tomorrow! I've had enough of you and your selfishness! Get lost, _now_!" John screams. Sam and Dean both cringe at that. Dean remains speechless, unable to counter, unable to come up with anything to convince John of the opposite. Sam remains speechless the very same way, but tears are freely running down his face, fists tensing, and shoulders shaking due to the hiccups he is trying to swallow. Dean never saw Sam so horrified about their dad's words. They truly must have hurt him.

"Get lost now, Samuel! I am not going to repeat myself!" John growls. When he uses "Samuel" you can be damn sure he means what he says – if not his furious eyes didn't tell all truth yet.

"Dad, I think we should…," Dean tries to make his appearance again, but Sam cuts him off.

"It's alright, Dean. Just leave it… I… I'm sorry…" Sam almost whispers before he runs off for their room. He slams the door shut and icy silence returns to the room. Dean glances at the door with terror. That Sam stormed off is nothing new, or that John told him to go to their room, but that Sam cried that way, that he looked so defeated, so _hurt_, that is new. And Dean just wants whatever it is gone. Nothing and no one gets to hurt his Sammy like that.

"Awesome job you did as a parent there, dad!" Dean exclaims frustrated, turning his worry into another effective weapon, anger.

"What? I'm his father. If I say he doesn't go to that damned graduation, then he doesn't go to that damned graduation. And that he is using you as a shield again is really ticking me off!" John argues.

"He _didn't_ use me in _any_ way. Sam just told me he was going to be orator and that he would like me to come. After that he didn't even mention the word "_graduation_" to me just once, except when _I_ asked him about it. Sam never cut the topic with me after he's asked me. He never asked me to help him to convince you to let him have it, he was the one to ask if I could get something to eat now, he was the one who just told me that he didn't want me to help him, as you might have realized. So now _you_ come. How did he use me again, dad?" Dean shouts. That is really going too far. He is well aware of John's strict rules, but that doesn't want to go into Dean's head. It stops when John dares to make his Sammy cry, cry like _that_.

"It doesn't matter, Dean. He asked you about something that is not going to happen. That Wendigo-case is important, _far_ more important than a stupid ceremony!" John shoots back.

"Well, the graduation seems to be a matter of heart to you just as well, huh?" Dean fumes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" John asks angrily.

"If you actually gave a shit on the graduation itself, then you would have told both me and Sam that graduation has to wait, we would be hitting the road and you would have ditched Sam the night before graduation so that he doesn't have a chance to argue. But now you _plan_ all that _beforehand_. We are going to kill that beast the day school ends, one day before graduation, which is in _three_ weeks. If the Wendigo-case was really that important, that _urgent_, we'd be rushing there now! The only reason why you are pushing is because it is another means to show that you are in charge. It's just to help your self-esteem, dad! You do that only to rule over Sam. You actually… you actually want to hurt him with that, right?" Dean says disbelieving. Normally, John always protects his sons, puts his life on the line, but now, even Dean, who is normally always their dad's greatest believer, gets the impression that he wants to see Sam hurting. If that is supposed to be another lesson John thinks Sam has to learn, then Dean doesn't see why John couldn't choose anything but that occasion to show that.

"I'm not hurting your younger brother, Dean. This is about a damned _graduation_! It's not like I'm putting him into a cage with water and an iron ball stuck to his foot. You two are making a fuss over something that really isn't worth the words even!" John shoots back.

"_You_ are the one making it a fuss, dad. _You_ are the one to make one single day sound like an ultimate sacrifice to humankind, as if that one day was going to cost the lives of thousands. And we both know that this is not true," Dean argues fiercely.

"The job goes first, Dean," John retorts angrily.

"_Family_ goes first, dad, hunt comes second. Your words, _your_ words!" Dean growls. How could John actually forget the one rule that is the mainframe to hold that family together?!

"Of course family comes first, Dean. But that hunt is far more important than that stupid speech could ever be!" John retorts.

"_Family_ comes first. Sam is family. He comes first, easy as that. He comes before that hunt, he comes before _any_ hunt. And if Sam has to give that speech, well, then I'll be there to support him. I owe him that much," Dean says with confidence in his eyes.

"You don't owe him anything, Dean. He owes you more than…" John fumes, but Dean interrupts him another time.

"Sam _doesn't_ owe me any more than I owe him. He saved my ass just as many times as I saved his throughout our lives. He was always there for me, dad! _Always_! He was the one to cheer me up when we were little and I was upset about you not returning from the hunts or coz I didn't know how to handle Sammy's fever. He was the one to pat my back and tell me that he was fine and that I should stop to cry coz we could just as well play ball! Sammy was and is the one damn thing to make my day a good day, with just that stupid goofy cute little smile of his! Sam, the smart boy he's always been, helped me in Lit Class more often than I could ever help him with his math problems. He even wrote essays for me when I didn't have the time because of the hunts or when I really couldn't wrap my head around it coz the images of that nasty stuff we are hunting were still plaguing me. He allows me to do the driving around and not the research coz he knows I don't like it! Sam was there for me in hospital, _all the time_, when you were elsewhere, either to kill the beast that got me or when you already got the next hunt, Sam was there to hold my hand and he was the first face I always got to see after I woke up from la-la-land! He dodged a knife with his friggin' _hand_, catching it in midair because otherwise it would have stabbed me right in the back after a vengeful spirit decided it would be fun to throw such things at people. It was _eighteen_ stitches that surely hurt like hell. I had to pull out the fuckin' knife, and it was _huge_. If that knife actually got me in the back, where it was supposed to go, you two would have been forced to carry out my lifeless body. If Sam hadn't dodged that knife, I wouldn't be here today. And Sam hadn't complained just _once_, dad. He almost drowned himself when he got me out of that nastily stinking bog where we had to hunt a water spirit, and damn, he was just _thirteen_ back then and about half my height and weight! Still, he got me out, no matter how heavy I was or how hard it was to keep upright! He always has my back on the hunts! So you tell me again that he owes me any more than I owe him. He is my little brother! So I owe him as much as to play chaperone on his friggin' graduation and listen to his speech, clap my hands, and take pictures. Even if I never gave a shit on school, Sam does. It is important to Sammy to finish this properly, to walk down that aisle and receive the diploma from that mean head teacher who wouldn't let him out of school early for the hunt we had to take, even if that weird deal of yours certainly sounded like Sam was going to have time to focus on his studies for the time being… but that's not the matter. _Sam_ is the matter! And for him that graduation is the matter. So screw it! Why can't you let him have it, huh? What's so much of a big deal about it that you're unable to swallow your pride just once and see Sammy needs that one damned thing?" Dean argues loudly. That needed to be said. Dean means every word of it and he could smack his father in the head to think that Sam owed him more than he owes his little brother. They don't owe the other, never did. Brothers are there for each other and love one another unconditionally, and the same should apply to a father, but their dad seemingly didn't get the hint yet. John is speechless now, for the very first time.

"Oh, so now you got nothing else to say? Well, that's just awesome, dad… but you know what? You can yell at me all you want, you can take my car keys, you can cut my pocket-money, whatever, I don't care, I couldn't care any less actually…," Dean throws his hands in the air in exasperation.

"Dean...," John growls.

"Your behavior just now is simply laughable and you accuse Sam of being selfish and childish all the time. I call it _adult_ to try to solve things the right way, by working hard for the studies, by working for every penny to afford that damned robe, by making a deal with you, offering you something in exchange, so that he could have his day, his ceremony, his speech. I call it _adult_ to send the other person away so that you two could have a word alone. I call it _adult_ that he didn't throw accusations at you half as bad as yours. And I call it _adult_ that Sam doesn't give in to you that easily and fights for what is important to him in life! And even if you make the both of us run _twenty_ miles morrow, be sure I am not going to change my mind, dad. That you made Sam cry is enough for me to know that I am doing the right thing with being on his side this time. Usually I am the last one to argue about your decisions, you know that. Usually I am always on your side and Sam has to fight alone, but this time… this time you're being wrong, this time _you're_ being the jackass of the day. And I am _so_ going to be there on his graduation day and I'll make damn sure he's there. No matter how much you'll complain or lecture us. Sam and I are going to that ceremony. So now, if you would excuse me? I got a little brother waiting for me who is in desperate need of at least one loving family member! I'm gone then, Sir. Or do you have to tell me that you don't want to see my face till tomorrow, too? That's your last chance, you know?" Dean speaks with incredible strength in his voice. He is still surprised himself where he found that new kind of power to stand up against his dad and snap at him in such a tone. Usually that's Sam's job, and usually John would be in his face now, but the older man looks almost _defeated_, as he slumps down in his armchair wordlessly. Dean doesn't care anymore, though, but instead turns around with a sigh dying on his lips, before he walks over their room to go see Sammy.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Day 1 before Graduation_**

It's night. Sam is sitting on his bed, hands folded in front of his face, his knee frantically bobbing up and down to ease some of his nervousness, _fear_ even. Dean is out to get something to eat, so he is finally by himself now because he couldn't possibly do that with his brother around.

The younger teen bothered his head over this since Mr. Parker handed him the acceptance sheet. Stanford… Sam always wanted to go to college, but _Stanford_? One of the most recommended colleges of all in the country, where only the really smart people ended up, where usually only brats of very rich people got to stay because they could actually afford it to buy that kind of higher education, and to that same school Sam Winchester, a hunter without means and less than fifty bucks in his pocket, was accepted without _ever_ having an interview with the headboard, a full-ride, it is _Stanford_, for Chrissake! That seemed so far out of reach, so far away, so surreal, so much of a sweet dream, but… he got it right there in his hands, the sheet being living proof for his efforts, it's reality. A full-ride with all the money being taken care of, with the chance of becoming a lawyer, with a steady place, security… that is all Sam ever wanted in life and now it is just within reach, now it is there, palpable. He can smell it, feel it. It is there, the moment of truth.

How many times did he argue with his dad to convince him of that lifestyle, this dream? How many lectures did he endure, or how many extra-laps and punishments did he take without a word of complaint to keep up college and a safe life as exactly that, a dream, a refuge? How many times was him that thought a soothing lullaby when crisis was hitting him yet another time, threatening to drown him?

And now the chance is there and he is… he is _afraid_! Sam is afraid and confused and that is why his knee is still constantly bobbing up and down, that is why his hands are shaking. The young teenager isn't even sure himself why that is so. All his dreams would be fulfilled with that paper after all, all the things he argued for, picked up fights for, worked for, struggled for, and now they are there and… he is _afraid_ of grasping that chance? What kind of sick logic is that?

Sam lets out a dry chuckle. Dean would probably tell him that it is his _teenage-moodiness_ getting him in the pants, but… that really isn't the matter now. The matter is what is going to happen now, to the family, to him. It is about his _future_.

He could grasp the chance of course. With that sheet, he could go to college, to _Stanford_.

It would be rough, admittedly, but… Sam could hitchhike to get from one place to the next, afford a bus ticket and food for at least a couple of days… Palo Alto isn't that far away… at least distance doesn't matter as much anymore. Sam is so used to driving around from one point of the US to the exact opposite so that the definition of "_distance_" is completely different from what normal people regard it as such. Even if it would take him weeks and he would have to stop by in a remote town to work in another minimarket for minimum wage, with a guy much like Kirby making him carry box after box after box, but he would eventually see the gates of Stanford University. He would enroll for the semester, live in a dorm with a goofy looking roommate who would try to get him into partying and extensive drinking – and Sam would refused, of course. He would stick his nose into books about American laws, would study for finals by spending coffee-ridden nights in the library. Maybe he would join a club there or take a fun-course, the ones others always talked about, a subject you never heard about or where you seriously ask yourself how that is worth an actual course at a college such as Stanford, or any other educational facility. Maybe Sam would find himself a girl, a cute one, maybe a law student, too, so that they could study together, or a student for medicine. Sam always had something going on for good-looking cute little nurses for some reason, or perhaps it is because Dean spoiled him since early childhood. Not only the overly high amount of hospital visits for whatever injury, but also that Dean would always tell Sam about how great the nurse's boobs were and so on and so on… it rubs on you at some point… Sam could have all that. He could go to interviews to be accepted to an office in Palo Alto or elsewhere, maybe start something on his own, to protect the innocent, not by shooting dead things, but by using the terms of legislature, trying to help abused children to get away from their parents, to unfold a murder case, help people solve their problems and disagreements, something like that. Sam could go to those famous college parties Dean always blabbered about to be the only thing he would actually consider great fun about school. Sam could join a college fraternity, all those things, he could make his choice. It is… doable, close, within the reach of his hands. All his dreams would eventually become true.

What could Sam possibly wish for more in life?

And that is where it's getting really complicated, that is the stone that is lying in the teen's path. Because whenever Sam comes to that question, his mind suddenly starts to blur. That is the moment he doesn't consider colleges anymore. That is the place no one ever touched, the most precious treasure to him. And just as fast as Sam's mind starts to blur into faint color and sparkling white the far off and so close memories hit him.

**_Dean_**, fifteen by the time, standing in front of him, tears in his eyes, for one of the few times he actually did, telling Sam to never-ever in his entire life dare to take off like that or otherwise he would kill him with a spoon, and Sam had only nodded. The younger brother had run away after a grand argument with their dad, but when he got almost run over by a drunken driver, Sam had landed in the roadside ditch and had decided that this was perhaps God's way of telling him that he was not supposed to walk that path. The youngest had come back and had made it half of the way until he caught sight of the Impala, Dean almost _jumping_ out of the car as he caught sight of his kid brother and beside the anger in his voice, the most prominent feature was Dean's concern and love for Sam. After checking him over and hissing at the cuts to Sam's side and face he had cursed his infamous "_son of a bitch_" so loud that Sam couldn't help it but smile at that. When he told his big brother what had happened most of the anger seemed to wash from Dean's face, though, and he simply held on tight to Sam, telling him those words about not leaving. And Sam had tears in his eyes as well as Dean, but he was happy that his _big-jerk-brother_, even after he had run off, had come looking for him.

**_Dean_**, seven years old by the time, sitting with Sam on the bed and playing cards with him, showing him all the tricks they needed to learn to pull card-tricks, just like their dad did in the bars. It had taken Sam's mind off of the fact that their dad was gone – for whatever reason it was back then because he didn't know it was a hunt, actually – and both found reassurance in the fact neither one was supposed to ask or answer those uncomfortable questions, but instead Dean would only whine about Sam's obvious skills on those games and that he beat him after just three attempts to get the trick right, for which Dean needed a half eternity, at least so claimed.

**_Dean_** playing chaperone on Sam's first real date. And even if Dean had threatened him all the while to give him hell about the fact that he was having his first date and everything, the older brother played the perfect chaperone, said nothing, came and left without even his smug expression on, not even the moment Sam brought the girl home and they shared the first kiss, gently, hesitantly. Dean had said nothing, he hadn't dared to joke about it, not the moment it happened, the moment Sam walked back to the car, not the moment the engine started off as they drove down the road, the duffels in the trunk. And it wasn't alone for the reason that this was a sad occasion actually, since they drove off to the next hunt with the end of that kiss and Sam hadn't dared to tell the girl that they would never see each other again, but also because of the simple fact that Dean was a great brother and had willed to be silent about something for at least that one time.

**_Dean_** handing his younger brother a poorly wrapped birthday present. He had never been too much into this, but the older brother always tried – for _some_ reason. And Sam always greatly appreciated that fact. It had been Sam's first version of Sherlock Holmes, and he had read the whole thing within a day. Dean had looked incredibly happy that Sam actually liked the present, especially since dad's ten bucks Dean was ordered to give the youngest on the day, because John was out on a hunt by that time, had a really nasty smack of bitterness. However, when Sam said they should go to the movies to spend the money, Dean couldn't have been happier. Funny enough that both seemed to understand it almost naturally how to make each other happy or how to take the sadness and anger away from the brother and simply leave a warm feeling of home.

**_Dean_** shielding Sam with his body as they were hunting a spirit and the thing liked to throw around all kinds of furniture. Dean had protected the small frame of his brother with his own, and he didn't even squint at the scratches he received from that, as long as his thirteen-year-old baby brother was safe and sound.

**_Dean_** picking him up after school every day, even if it happened more than often that Dean took a part-time job if they stayed in town for longer and he had to rush there after he was done. The older brother never had complained about doing the service and Sam had always waited for him by the entry of the school. Even in rain and snow, he had waited for the Impala to come around the corner, for hours even. It always had been a silent agreement between the two: _I come for you, I wait for you, easy as that, brother_.

**_Dean_** giving Sam his first driving lesson, explaining everything in detail and it sounded like he was talking about the best way of how to hook up a girl, because in fact Sam had suspicion Dean regarded the Impala as exactly such, calling it _baby_ and everything… and the proud grin on Dean's face as they finally drove down the empty road in the middle of nowhere and the oldest leaned back in his seat and told Sam to carry on while he was going to relax for a bit, and in fact he did because Dean always felt eased with his little Sammy around. And Sam couldn't have been prouder about the fact he was driving a car now, Dean's car, his baby, and he let him do it practically by himself.

**_Dean_** taking Sammy's small hand back when they were both in elementary and Dean guided Sam from the motel to the school building. With Dean by his side, grasping his hand, Sam felt like nothing bad could ever happen to him.

**_Dean_** with him on the couch watching another re-run of a horror movie and both were laughing their butts off at the impersonation of a vampire or ghost, since it couldn't have been further from the truth.

**_Dean_** mumbling silent thank-you's over and over again when a fifteen-year-old Sam handed him a stash of papers, Dean's due project on _Emily Dickens and her contribution to literature of her period_, because Dean was so worked up about his other subjects – and that because they were hunting so much that Dean couldn't wrap his head around stuff like "_French for Starters_," "_Drawing Coplanar Spaces_," or "_Stock Market Crash and its Effects on Today's Society_" – that he couldn't finish to read all the stuff about the author and write the report. Dean had been fully convinced his Lit teacher was going to give him hell the other morning for his not turned-in presentation and had already been on probable excuses, but that was until Sam handed him the sheets. Dean had been totally dumb-folded about it, unable to speak coherent sentences for at least a couple of minutes and simply gave Sam a brief hug – because this indeed saved his ass and prevented him from a sit-in for a year. And of course Dean had received an A+ for the presentation, which certainly pleased his Lit teacher so that she finally left him at peace for the next couple of weeks.

**_Dean_** being freaked because a five-year-old Sam was running high fever and dad was still nowhere in sight and no matter how many times Dean prayed to God their dad would come, he didn't, so Dean carried on with putting cold cloths on Sam's body and talked to him in a hushed voice that everything was going to be over soon and that he would fix this. And Sam had always believed him.

**_Dean_** carrying his duffel without a word because he simply knew that Sam hurt his shoulder on that hunt, but either didn't realize himself until then or tried to hide it.

**_Dean_** being the first word Sam ever spoke, even before he had said mommy or daddy.

**_Dean_** being the first person Sam, as a toddler, made his first steps to, no longer on all fours, but walking like he was about to tackle the world and Dean couldn't have been any prouder of his baby brother.

**_Dean_** humming "_Hey Jude_" in the middle of the night to ease Sam back to sleep after another painful nightmare of dead bodies, decaying flesh, and eyes of beasts darting him in the dark as the older brother snuck with him under the covers.

**_Dean_** making fun of him for his rather healthy lifestyle-attitude by calling him _princess_ and all those other names only those two either understood or that only Dean found incredibly funny.

**_Dean_** and him sitting on the hood of the car to watch the stars.

**_Dean_** and Sam sneaking out of the motel room to go to the movies or get some ice cream.

**_Dean_** and him making the first snowman Sam has ever made – and he looked like a werewolf.

**_Dean_** reading out bedtime stories to Sam when he was still too small to read by himself. And once he could read, Dean would still sit behind him, Sam between his legs, Dean's arms gently wrapped around the younger brother to hold the book, and Sammy would go ahead and read the text to Dean. And Dean would listen very carefully and smile proudly at how well Sam could read by now and at how incredibly cute the small kid looked as he carried on.

**_Dean_** wrapping an arm around him as they finish their first salt-and-burn the youngest was allowed to come along with and Sam couldn't help himself but cry upon seeing the body burning to ashes, the body of a girl, maybe about Sam's age, who was crying out for her parents the whole time during the hunt – after she had been raped, killed, and tossed into the woods by some bastard fifty years before the Winchesters came to put her to peace. Dean didn't say anything, just held on to Sam and allowed the younger sibling to cry all he wanted.

**_Dean_** pulling all kinds of pranks on him, especially those involving clowns, since Sam always displayed some sort of phobia of these fellows.

**_Dean_** listening to all Sam had to tell about school day, even if he was all tired and exhausted, he still put up a conversation with the younger sibling to make him feel that he actually was the most important to the big brother, which he has always been.

**_Dean_** full-heartedly singing along to his old cassette tapes in the car, driving Sam nuts about that he wanted him to sing along because the younger man knew all the lyrics by heart after hearing them for the millionth time. And eventually Dean always got his will.

**_Dean_** treating his injuries, or if John did it, Dean holding on to Sam's hand to reassure him, soothing words whispered into Sam's ear as the procedure carried on in motel rooms, shacks, woods with meager light and nothing but darkness between them.

**_Dean_** giving Sam his first bottle of beer after the younger teen had to kill a family father who turned out to be a Skinwalker. The man who had turned into a monster was _that_ close from eating Dean's face, at least that was the description Dean came up with later on, so Sam simply had to get the man before that could happen and killed him in the end. The man left three children and a loving wife and it was one of those occasions where Dean said simply nothing and Sam was more than grateful for the silence and the numbing effect of the alcohol.

**_Dean_** using a paper clip to stitch Sam's A+'s to the walls, as the triumph of the day, because they didn't have a fridge in most of the places, at least not one of those you could stick papers to, and even if John had always given it a snort, Dean carried on with the same kind of spirit because he cared for Sam's achievements and seemingly wanted to honor them his very own way.

**_Dean_** beating the crap out of Steve Anderson and his fellows after they decided to pick up on Sam as the new one at the school. Dean had stormed off after patching Sam's cuts and bruises they inflicted on him… they had beaten him up and then tossed him into a huge trashcan. Dean spotted them right away, Sam behind him, and Steve was the first one to get a clean uppercut that knocked him out. The others got their fair share, too, before Dean pulled down their jeans and tossed the trousers in a garbage bag far out of reach so that the jocks had to run down the streets of town with only boxers on. They never had dared to bug Sam ever again.

**_Dean_** making stupid jokes so that Sam would forget his anger or sadness for a moment to give a roll of his eyes and then both could start to laugh again.

**_Dean_** calling him a _bitch_ and Sam calling him a _jerk_ as a response, even if neither one could remember when or why they had started it.

**_Dean_**, always, being the first face greeting him after he woke up from a nightmare, after being knocked out, after surgery. It had always been Dean's smug, cocky, _brotherly-concerned-mother-hen-look _that was the first thing Sam caught sight of in any kind of haze and both found peace in that the very same way.

**_Dean_** ruffling through his hair all the time.

**_Dean_** calling him _Sammy_.

**_Dean_**.

It is always about _Dean_.

Dean is every start of Sam's memory, and very often the ending, too.

Wherever Sam searches, Dean's images flood his mind. Dean is the world to him and Sam knows that he is the world to Dean the very same way. It is a truth left unspoken, but it needn't be said because both simply know.

Dean had always been there for him, through the happy times of life, through the hard times of life, and all the while in between. Even if Dean would give him hell about it if Sam would ever say that out loud, Dean is the most precious thing to Sam, the one person he truly… _loves_. Dean is the one reason for Sam to live. He knows by now that it was indeed Dean who carried him out of his nursery when their house burned down and mom died. He saved him that night and for that Sam devoted his life to the older brother the very same way. Sam lives because of Dean. Dean is in every corner of Sam's mind. Of course John is an important part of his life as well, but… but Dean simply plays the greatest role in his life. Their connection is on a completely different level that probably neither one of them truly understands. Dean had always been there for him, he can't repeat that often enough. Dean is his big brother, and besides being a total jerk at times, he is the greatest brother on earth, so Sam thinks.

And if Sam actually went to Stanford… he would have to leave Dean.

Dean wouldn't be able to join him on that path. Dean is all into hunting and just as much as family is everything to the older teen, so is the family business. Dean is a born hunter, familiar with almost any kind of weapon, smart, fast and strong. He works hard and is very stubborn. Dean was and always will want to protect people, with weapons, and not by using terms of legislature. The big brother couldn't just stop with what was his mission since he was so young, too damn young, Sam reminds himself.

Dean already had to give up on so much in life. He had to make sacrifices for the family Sam was aware of for the most part, but what John only demanded as if those sacrifices actually were a higher order for Dean. Dean always did without attaching to places, the girl he was going out with. He didn't complain when he had to give up on his friends or when he had to stay with Sam instead, to watch the younger brother. Dean always had restricted himself, for the sake of the family. And Sam tries to give him as much appreciation for it as he can because he sees Dean trying, he sees him making those sacrifices, _willingly_, because family always comes first for Dean.

Sam couldn't ask Dean to make such great sacrifices again by coming with him, to live a life without hunts, work in a body shop or try to enroll college himself. He couldn't ask his older brother to leave the most precious thing to Dean, his family, his dad. The younger man couldn't demand from Dean to walk away from hunting, the one thing he finally accustomed to, got used to. Sam could never possibly ask Dean that.

And then there is dad. Sure, Sam loves his father, no doubt about that. However, their dad plays a completely different role in Dean's life. John Winchester always had been his role-model, the person he looked up to. John was Michelangelo's "_David_" to Dean, the strong, great, big, ready-to-fight, perfect man. Dean always sought their dad's approval, even more than Sam did. And for Dean it never was just about the praise, but that this was the only way those two could actually connect. Dad was always perfect to Dean, he was invincible, infallible, the man Dean always wanted to be. Dean couldn't be without their dad, Sam knows that. He depends on him. Dean couldn't live without his dad by his side, couldn't be without his praise, his orders, everything that makes John Winchester the man he is. Dean would wither if Sam actually dared to take that man, that pillar, away from Dean. And Sam couldn't do that. He could never intentionally hurt Dean. Dean is the world to him and he would make any sacrifice for his big brother's sake.

A man who matters to him so much… Sam couldn't let him go, right? He couldn't leave him, but that would be the case if he decided to go to Palo Alto. Sam couldn't have it all. There was no way the younger teen could incorporate hunting, staying with Dean, being there for him, with studies, finals, and school activities. He couldn't make new memories with Dean if he would go to Stanford. Either way, it is a clean cut that needs to be made. Either to do something on his own, or stay with the family. So that is the core problem. There is no way to find a compromise to this. It is either that or that, no second chances, no way of return, a clean cut. It is either Stanford or the family, simple and plain and terrible as it might be.

"Sometimes you gotta take one for the team," Sam exhales. Dean had told him with a smug grin so many times, but there was great truth behind the simplicity of that statement. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made to keep what is the most precious to you.

And what is more precious to him? Stanford – a dream, maintained for so long now, worked so hard for, earned with every fiber? Or… a brother for whom Sam would walk through any desert, would swim through any drowning current, would jump in front of any train for?

Sam lets out another sad chuckle.

The question of what is more precious to him isn't very hard. It's easy. Dean, _Dean_ of course. Sam would choose Dean over anything, anything, _anything_.

And that is when it dawns on the youngest that he finally made his choice. He had probably done it the moment he received the sheet from Mr. Parker. He didn't say yes - already back then Sam said that the teacher probably can't imagine how important his family is to him. And that is true. Dean is _that_ important to him. The little brother can't leave him, can't ditch him, can't imagine to be without him. Sam couldn't ditch Dean, not even for a dream like Stanford, not for anything in the world.

Stanford, even if it is a dream, is still a place, a _place_, nothing more, not a living being. Dean on the other hand is, and that living being is far more precious to him than anything Sam ever knew and is probably ever going to know.

Tears are now freely running down his cheeks.

Even if the choice of what is more precious to him is easy… the hard part is about letting go of a dream, to forget about himself and concentrate on Dean and not the dream of security and peace. The hardest part is to admit it, that the dream is over, that this chance won't be grasped, will be left in the dark, even if it was a comfort in a long, long time.

Sam bites his lower lip as he retrieves a box from underneath his bed, his hands feeling heavy at the movements.

"I'm doing this for you alone, Dean," Sam whispers in a ragged voice.

"Sam Winchester made up his mind… I'm going to become the best hunter out there. I will make my family proud and will protect them. I will never complain about not having the chance of… of anything that comes even close to Stanford ever again… because… because… because of _you_, Dean. I will work this, promise. You will never know and it's probably better that way. You shouldn't carry my burden. I just want to make memories with you… and… and… here go my goodbyes for Stanford University. I really pictured me there, but I am sorry, especially for Mr. Parker, after all the effort, but… but I guess my life simply doesn't allow me. I love Dean too much, so… thank you, but _no_ thank you," Sam speaks in a shaky voice. He has to make that clear to himself, to make this his final answer. Once you speak out the words, then they become an undeniable truth, he always had believed in that. This is why their mum wasn't dead until Dean admitted for the very first time that she was. That is why Sam had been sad only the moment he told Dean that he really missed Bones, the dog he took care of in one of the towns they stayed at. That is why dad only got back after Sam had happily exclaimed upon seeing the familiar face appearing in the door frame. That is why Sam was not injured until he had told Dean that his side hurt so much that he could barely take it. That is why they never left a town until the order came out of their dad's mouth. That is why Sam had stopped in his tracks after trying to run off because Dean had told him to stop, and so he did. That is why it needs to be said now, so that it becomes reality and truth. Sam folds the paper he received from Mr. Parker and stashes it into the box, closing the lid with teary eyes and shaking hands.

"Thanks for seeing me worthy, but… but I can't. That is my choice," Sam whispers before he starts to cry another time as he hides the box underneath the bed. The youngest is just glad that Dean didn't catch him talking to himself because the oldest would blackmail him over this for a felt eternity. Sam sobs silently and when there is a rattling on the door, he is surprised he didn't hear Dean coming through the front door and he is hastily wiping his tears away, trying to brace himself. Dean peers into the lightly dark room and spots the younger man, red blotches on his face and reddened eyes.

"Everything okay with you?" Dean asks with an edge of worry in his voice. He comes inside, studying his younger sibling carefully.

"Yeah, yeah, nothing to worry about, Dean," Sam assures.

"You've cried," Dean states flatly. It never means any good, so the older brother knows.

"Yeah, yeah, but… it's nothing really, I am finished with this now," Sam answers.

"Will you tell me why you cried?" Dean asks. He is already pretty sure what the answer will be, but that doesn't mean the question shouldn't be asked.

"Just had to wrap up some old business, but now it's all done and I am… ready… how 'bout we simply eat something, huh?" Sam offers a small smile. Dean is a little suspicious, but lets Sam have his way because he looks so defeated, Dean doesn't want to push him. So they simply sit down and eat in silence and Sam desperately tries to push the new questions out of his head.

Was it the right choice?

Am I going to regret this?

Will Dean realize? Will he find out?

And what would Dean have said if he had asked him for guidance?

What would Dean's opinion have been?

Sam swallows hard on the fries, trying to think of Dean and him watching old horror movies again, looking up to the stars, playing cards, Dean's smug grin.

"I hope that will be enough," Sam murmurs and even if Dean understood the words, he doesn't get the meaning.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Year 1_**

"Dean, where did dad go?" Sam grimaces uncomfortably. The witch-case lies a few days back now, but ever since the day there was this weird tension between the older men of the family. It didn't take a genius to figure, but that John's gone now is something that certainly confuses Sam.

Dean sits on his bed, seemingly hypnotizing the table Sam is standing at.

"Dean, you heard me? I asked you if you know where dad went," Sam tries again, but Dean is unable to say anything. He doesn't find the words to say it out loud, can't even fidget the thoughts to describe it. It's all too horrible. The older brother can still vividly recall his conversation with their dad, what he had told him, what burden he put on them with his plan. However, Dean never gave John an answer to his request, he didn't agree or disagree, no, Dean said nothing about this night to either family member, and still John set off, without waiting for Dean's final answer.

"Did I say something wrong, Dean? You know, so that you don't talk to me?" Sam tries another time, sounding rather frustrated this time. He nervously allows his eyes to wander between Dean and the open window where the youngest used to be able to see his dad's truck all the time, but can't spot it. Dean meets him with silence another time, but that is enough for Sam. Neither John nor Dean would talk to him after the witch-case beside to get food or so, and now dad is gone and Dean is giving him the cold shoulder? That is simply unfair! He did nothing wrong this time. Sam made sure he didn't. He didn't argue with Dean, with John, he did his research thoroughly, didn't complain about having to miss out on the witch-case, even though he certainly deserved to be in, since he was the one who did _all_ the prep-up. His research helped them a great deal with finding the witch's house, he obediently got all the food, and silently accepted the other men's weird behavior, _but enough is enough_.

"Wow, that is really adult of you, Dean, I am bound to say! You know, you could at least be so polite to _yell_ at me so that I know what the fuckin' deal is, but well… you can go on giving me silent treatment till you drop dead! I don't care!" Sam shouts in his frustration. He simply can't take the silence anymore. Dean glances at him, looking incredibly stupid. Sam growls underneath his breath another time. Is everyone thinking he is so retarded to leave him out the entire time?!

"Oh screw it! If you don't want to talk to me like dad doesn't want to, after all he's not answering his damn phone, then I'll find the answers myself," Sam growls. This startles Dean to finally jump into action. No, he can't lose Sammy, too!

"Sam, wait, _please_," Dean demands hastily, getting up to block Sam from the exit. Sam's eyes glister with frustration and uncertainty so that Dean would love to crack up crying just now, but he has to keep up a strong face.

"Oh, so now you forbid me to go, too? This is just getting better by the minute, dude!" Sam exclaims. He is really at a loss with his emotions. Something is wrong, that's obvious. And now Dean doesn't want him to go see if he can find dad? God, everything is so complicated now! Sam would just love to throw himself on his bed, crawl underneath the covers, and wake up maybe next Wednesday or sometime next year because anything is better than _this_.

"Sam, wait, please… I'll tell you, but… just don't leave, okay?" Dean tries softly, holding on to Sam's forearm. Even if the desperate message "_don't leave __me_" is strongly laying within that statement. Sam's features slump at that because he senses it is really a matter of heart to Dean and he is going to tell him now, which is the only thing that matters at that point. The younger teen lets out a sigh before he settles down on a chair, gesticulating Dean to do the same. The older brother obeys and sits down. Perhaps it's better that way, a little calmer, closer together. However, Dean is incredibly relieved that Sam didn't fight him to let him go to search for dad. It just shows how much Sam trusts Dean, _blindly_.

"So what is wrong, Dean? Dad didn't show in two days and neither one of you is telling me what kinda solo-hunt he's taking. Dad didn't leave me instructions for the next gig, _nothing_, not even a freakin' note. That's not the usual way he operates, and normally you wouldn't try your mind-tricks on the table here that you have eyed ever since we are in that apartment, but instead would tell me what the hell is going on and if not, you would at least have the piety to come up with a damn good excuse, Dean. So what is wrong here?" Sam argues. He knows of all the habits and customs by now. He knows exactly how either John or Dean would work in this kind of situation, at least the situation he still supposes. Dean manages to smirk faintly for about a second, before his features go back to sadness another time.

"Many things are wrong now, Sammy, believe me. This situation is entirely fucked up," Dean sighs.

And _fucked up_ is the nice to term to describe all this. Dean has to tell Sam the probably worst news ever and he is totally alone on this one. Dad is not there to take over, give him orders, the oldest son, for the very first time, actually feels lost.

"Dean, did something happen between the two of you?" Sam asks, now sounding so damn much like Dean's little Sammy so that the older brother would like to strangle him because it makes him want to cry right away. Now Dean is not only going to hurt the new Sam, but his little Sammy, too.

"No… I mean… _yeah_, but it isn't the matter now, Sam… the important thing is… I mean… you know… it's like this… I… Ah, fuck, why is this so hard to say?" Dean exclaims frustrated. He sounds so pathetic, even if he wanted to put up a strong face for his younger sibling all the while. But whenever he looks Sam into his deep hazel eyes he can't help himself but feel lost and exposed to Sam's intense stare.

"Did something happen to dad? Is he okay? What's wrong?" Sam asks frantically. Maybe something happened to dad and Dean won't tell him? The kid could jump out of his skin just now. Dean can honestly understand his worry the very best. Sam, even with his new robot-side to his personality, always displays the same kind of concern for either of his family members. Nothing is ever going to touch that resort as it seems. Dean sadly smirks at that.

"I think he's alright, Sammy," Dean assures the younger man, who is seemingly easing at that.

"So what is it, huh?" Sam sighs. Suddenly he looks much more defeated. His features slump and Dean can't read his younger sibling's mimic anymore. Sam is just exhausted by this mood-change all this time. One fear crossed out, two new ones show up. What the hell happened?

"God, this is so fuckin' hard… I… uhm… this is… argh, fuck it! Damn it!" Dean curses. He wants to tell Sam, _properly_, but the words just don't slip from his tongue. He searches Sam's eyes for reassurance, but Dean has to realize with terror that Sam's eyes are full of tears now, shaking his head weakly, even though Dean didn't say anything yet.

"He's left, right?" Sam whispers. Dean's jaw drops. Never did he think Sam would figure. He didn't think Sam would find out that early, without a chance of preparing the younger sibling for that. How is that even possible? Sam couldn't have known? But he does… _how_?

"How… how do you…?" Dean questions, unable to speak complete sentences yet.

"I knew something was wrong after that witch-hunt. Even _before_ that… actually… I mean… he usually demanded from me that I was on a witch-hunt with you coz it's better to have more members around if the bitch tries to pull something… and then he sends me off to research the next gig, instead… didn't quite fit…" Sam exhales another time, his head shooting upwards for once, biting back tears, before he carries on in a weak voice.

"And _after_ the hunt… you wouldn't even look dad in the eye… you barely talked to me either. Didn't take a genius to figure something was _off_… dad was distant, too, even for _his_ standards… and then… when he drove off in the middle of the night… I heard him packing, you know… he thought I was taking a shower, but… I only turned on the water and planted my head to the tiles to hear what he was doing next door… he packed his duffel, _everything_… and the night he's left… he ruffled through my hair before he went, tucked you in some more, too. He doesn't do that if there isn't something severely wrong, I mean… dad really isn't the one to get all worked-up about leaving for a solo-hunt, c'mon…," Sam explains, letting out a dry chuckle towards the end, though it gets caught inside his throat so that he breaks off into a fit of coughing.

"He's left the journal, you know?" Sam then says, pointing with the chin at John's bed.

"Under the pillow, of course…," Sam continues. Dean glances over to the bed, then back at Sam. He didn't even realize John did that. He was so caught up with his emotions and everything that Dean didn't see seemingly _many_ things surrounding him. And he knows that their father never would have left the journal without a reason, and the probable reason is so that the sons have some guidance about the monsters, even if it is a poor excuse.

"You didn't call him _once_ since he left, another sign… usually you'd call every ten minutes and then growl "_son of a bitch_" after getting the voicemail yet another time… you said nothing about the fact he left… totally unlike you in such a situation. Normally you're the first one to ask questions about where he is and even if you did not… you'd try to reassure me that he is probably back some time soon, but you didn't – and that's most likely coz you knew he won't," Sam sighs, still trying to fight back the tears in his eyes.

"The only reasonable explanation to all this would be that dad took off alone. And the only reasonable explanation for your behavior would be that he let you in on his plan – during the hunt most likely, right?" Sam then says. Dean can only manage to look both terrified and shocked.

"Am I right, Dean?" Sam asks, seeking confirmation for his conclusions and for his brother's reaction, who silently listened to all this without losing a word.

"Yeah… I… he left us," Dean admits finally, bowing his head both guiltily and sadly.

"So it's true…," Sam sighs, meekly. At some point he still hoped he was simply wrong and Dean would come with an idiot-proof explanation about how all that played together into being one huge misunderstanding – whereas dad is just waiting for them next state to join them, something like that.

"Yeah, it is… Sammy, I… I'm sorry… I… I'm _so_ sorry I…," Dean apologizes, squeaking a little.

"You're not to blame, Dean… and dad probably took off for a reason, right? The demon? A lead? Yeah, that would fit about just right…," Sam rolls his eyes, now a tear running down his cheek.

"That's what he told me," Dean manages in a croaked voice.

"Or perhaps he's just fed up with me, well…," Sam grimaces awkwardly.

"No, Sam, he said it's a lead, really, believe me. That has nothing to do with you," Dean argues frantically. He couldn't stand the idea of Sam blaming himself for their dad's disappearance because he is really not the one to blame for their dad taking off solo.

"It has to do with us, Dean. It has to do with me because I am part of this. He's left you, he's left me for some reason he wouldn't tell you about – most likely – because he definitely wouldn't give you all the details because… because this is dad we are talking about," Sam shoots back.

"He said it's a secret he couldn't tell me at that point," Dean sighs. Was it really all that predictable? Dean thought, no, he had _believed_ that his father had told him the exact truth, the secret that needs to stay untouched, but the way Sam says it… it sounds more and more like a poor excuse because it just fits so damn well into John's behavior. That the lead was more important than them, that he told it all Dean with putting the stress on the urgency of it… Why didn't Dean see that on the night dad told him? Why did he get blinded by the old man's tears and the lump in his throat? How comes he didn't see the possibility it was just a… a trick, of sorts? And why is Sam the one who has to break those news to him? Dean would like to slap himself for his easy-believing-behavior. He was trained otherwise, _never trust anybody but yourself_,_ trust your instinct_, that's been the rule, but he only trusted John's tears and his soft words towards the end. _Fuck_!

"And that is also why I am pretty sure that it is indeed about me, Dean, in what way so ever… you know… some things finally start to make sense now…," Sam says weakly.

"What?" Dean grimaces.

"You can't imagine how many times dad told me that I am a threat – to you, when I was messing up on a hunt – to others, when I didn't do as I was told – to him, because I dared to argue – I always was a threat in some way. I don't say he hates me or anything. I know he loves you and me, in his very own way, but…," he grimaces, leaning his head to the side slightly.

"You know, I walked in on him one time, while he was he talked to a fellow hunter, I suppose, I was thirteen maybe, I am not entirely sure anymore… We lived in a vacant family house on the outskirt of town, pretty decent, actually… it was in the middle of the night… I stood outside in the hallway when I heard them. I wanted to go to the kitchen to get something to drink after a nightmare, but there was only a way through the living room, so I had to wait until they finished... The dude said that what dad carried around with him was going to get him killed if he didn't get rid of it. Dad was furious with the dude for saying so. He said he didn't have any right to say such a thing. The hunter insisted, though, said that you didn't drag around with you what you should be hunting… dad got angrier by the minute and… that is when the dude walked up into the hallway. He looked at me with such disgust and anger and worry in his face… I've never seen that before… dad came right after him. He was shocked when he saw me. He didn't hear me coming, supposedly. He told me to go away, hastily, and I did, went to the kitchen to get something to drink, but… I could hear the dude talking nevertheless, said that dad should better watch that brat of his if he could help it somehow. He should watch it carefully… dad had said that he would do so… and then the dude left… dad never talked to me about that incident, only to go back to bed… I did…, " the teenager licks his lips, seemingly contemplating on the right words.

"Dean, dad had agreed to that man to watch me, not watch _out_ for me, not to _look after_ me, but to _watch me_, be careful about me because I might be a threat, perhaps? I don't know what it was they were talking about, but I am sure that this has to do with it, that I have to do with all this. Dad might regard me his beloved youngest, but… he thinks I need to be watched because… because I am dangerous in some way? I don't know. I don't care at some point. He's left. Dad's gone. He didn't even offer me the chance to tell him goodbye, or simply have a word with him coz I certainly had a few things to say… He left without a word to me and he left you with the word, which is just as bad… he's left, simple as that. He left us two behind…," Sam states, tears welling in his eyes, though they still stand in his huge hazels as if he told them to stay there.

"Sam, I…," Dean stutters in a croaked voice. Not only the story Sam just told him almost breaks his heart, or that Sam is having tears in his eyes now, but the sick kind of irony that he argued with their dad about the same thing when John told him about his plans, about watching and watching out for Sam.

"It's alright, Dean, really. You… you don't have to explain yourself or dad. I… I am not mad at you, I am really not. I am glad _you_ didn't leave me on tops of everything. Could just as well have been that I woke up this morning to realize no one is there, just two hundred bucks and a cold coffee… At least _you_ are seemingly not afraid of staying with me, Dean," Sam speaks, a faint smirk washing over his face before a sob erupts his throat and he is cut off of his slight sarcasm, the matter of self-protection he inherited from his big brother.

"I am not, Sammy. I could never be. And dad isn't either," Dean reassures the younger man, now having a steady hand on Sam's forearm that is resting on the tabletop.

"Are you sure of that?" Sam questions in almost a whisper.

"I am certain that I could never-ever be afraid of you, Sammy. You are my younger brother. You mean everything to me, alright?" Dean soothes.

"I mean, you could leave, too, you know, you don't have to stay for my sake if you… if you…," Sam says, visibly uncomfortable.

"Hell no, Sam!"Dean exclaims. How can his brother even _consider_ him leaving him?!

"Dean, I would understand," Sam sighs. He is just so fed up with this situation. His dad left them alone and now Dean is stuck with that creep of a brother because dad thought he was better off without them. That is unfair, simply unfair, and Sam doesn't want Dean to do something he doesn't want to do, even the little brother wants to protect what is important to him, no matter how high the price would be.

"No way, Sam. You're my little brother and I love you. I would never-ever in my entire life leave you behind! Never! Never! _Never_! You get me?" Dean states confidently.

"But Dean…," Sam disagrees weakly.

"No, no, no, Sam! There is _no_ way I am going to leave you, ever. It's enough that _dad_ dared to walk out that door. Till the last I thought he was going to give up on the idea, but… but he left, he left us behind. Well, you know what, Sammy? That's _his_ bad. He doesn't seem to know what he got with you and me, _especially_ with you. So screw the old man, Sam. He'll realize very soon what kinda son of a bitch he was for doing such a thing. We are better off without him. We can handle ourselves, you'll see," Dean assures, suddenly regaining some of the confidence he is desperately seeking.

"What? You're angry at dad… you…," Sam frowns, disbelieving. He still thought Dean would have a little faith in their dad for some reason he couldn't figure when he was still all rebellious.

"No, angry doesn't even come _close_ to that! I am _furious_! I am everything at the same time! He simply doesn't deserve us, you know that? We are too good for him. We are better off without that ass, Sammy. He made the last mistake by leaving us. I don't know that man anymore and I couldn't care any less for him. You and I against the rest of the world, Sammy, always told you, but it's the truth," Dean says, the voice shaking, but the resolution just as firm.

"So this is it? We don't go looking for him?" Sam asks weakly.

"Do you want to?" Dean questions because if Sam would says so, he still would go looking for their dad, no matter what he had told him back in the woods, he'd give it everything he had to find that bastard, even if it was only for Sam to turn his back on him and drive away, so be it. For Sam Dean would do anything, really anything.

"At some point, maybe, but the rest is screaming _no_ now - _desperately_… It hurts, Dean. It simply… hurts, hurts so much," Sam whimpers. His head bows even more, now almost resting on his thighs and he turns in on himself. Dean rubs soothing circles over Sam's back, trying to offer at least a little comfort in this mess. It's the only thing he can do for his younger brother now. He can't make the pain any better because the problem won't disappear. Their father won't come back, he's gone. This time Dean is simply unable to fix things for Sam, and it sucks ass to realize that.

"Yeah, I know that. I know," Dean soothes in a hushed whisper, leaning in closer to shield Sam off of the rest of the world for a little while, just in the same way he used to when they were both still kids. When their dad was gone again for a hunt and the two had to stay alone, Sam would tick off after a while because he was simply afraid of everything, the fact that they were alone, that it was dark, that there was thunder roaring… Dean simply had sat down next to Sam, wrapped his arms around the small frame as tightly as he could, covering up as much as possible, and then he told his kid brother that everything was going to be over soon and that he would be there for him, that nothing bad could happen to him, that dad would return soon… but now Dean can only do the gesture because in fact the words would be a total lie, and Sam had enough lies by now.

"Dad's left us for real… he… he ditched us…," Sam whispers with ragged breaths. It's like back then the day he made his choice. Once you speak out the words, things become unchangeable reality.

"I know, I know…," Dean coos, biting his lip.

"He's not gonna come back. We are on ourselves from now on…," Sam speaks weakly.

"Yeah, yeah…," Dean nods, tears in his eyes.

"He's gone… dad's gone… forever… and we'll never see him again…," Sam carries on hoarsely.

"I know, I know, Sammy…," Dean soothes.

"He's left, yeah?" Sam asks, almost childishly.

"Yeah," Dean swallows.

"He won't come back?" Sam speaks faintly.

"I don't think so," Dean simply nods.

"Dean?" Sam squeaks this time.

"Yeah?" Dean asks back.

"Is it okay to cry now?" Sam whimpers. He was still holding back most of the tears, but the kid is simply unable to deal with it anymore. This is simply too much to take for a nearly seventeen year old teenager.

"Yeah," Dean nods, tears freely running down his cheeks, getting lost in Sam's shirt.

"Thanks," Sam sobs now. Dean holds on even tighter, at a total loss. Sam cries into his lap, his body heaving heavily at every movement, and Dean would love to tell Sam anything that would possibly make him any better, but there are no words to cope with the betrayal they just suffered. So he simply says nothing and nothing but the question "_Why_?" is lingering in the room, but is left unspoken.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! I promise, Bobby will come in, soon. Just hold on a bit longer for our favorite Uncle ;)  
So, here goes the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

_**Year 5**_

"Sam, you're hurt!" Dean exclaims as they enter the room. They just got back from hunting a demon in a nearby town. The older brother didn't see it in the dark before, but there is a nasty gash across Sam's forearm, pretty long, and definitely stitch-up-material.

"Oh… uhm… didn't realize…," Sam mumbles with a frown.

"You don't realize when your forearm is cut open halfway?" Dean retorts angrily. He pushes Sam over to the set of stools and table and settles the younger man down. Then Dean goes to get the first aid kit. Sam, knowing the drill, takes off his shirt to put pressure on the wound with the cloth. Okay, that's not the drill he was _originally_ trained, but it grew to be a habit. Before, Dean would do all that, but Sam, for _some_ reason, is doing many things by himself now, not minding, actually, automatically almost, without whimpering. Even now he doesn't budge as he gets out of his shirt, which surely hurts like hell with the sliced arm of his, but Dean, sometimes, has the feeling that Sam doesn't even feel the sensation of pain at some point. Or perhaps Sam needs that to remind himself that he still feels something. The older brother comes back with the first aid kit and starts with his work, mumbling incoherent curses under his breath.

"Man, we weren't even hunting a werewolf," Dean exclaims as he inspects the injury because sure as hell such a mark usually only occurs after a werewolf attack.

"Uhm… oh yeah, I think I remember now… it was when I was one-on-one with the demon in the garage. He pushed me to a table and… I think I caught sight of a saw before it probably got me… I was too busy trying to keep him from me, though… adrenaline really does amazing things, gee…," Sam explains rather mindfully. Dean shakes his head. He knows that Sam doesn't hide injuries. He's too smart to do that and it's ineffective for the hunting, which works for Dean's advantage at some point because that means that Sam usually tells him about injuries – _if_ he realizes them. Sometimes he doesn't and he simply… _forgets_ that he has them, in all honesty. That is why it grew a habit to check the little brother over after any hunt, once they are back to the room with decent light.

"Yeah, still, Sam… you gotta watch out some more, dude… this cut's serious and needs treatment. You could have bled to death, alright? And that in my car! You know about the rules about bleeding on the leather seats of the Impala, yes?" Dean sighs. Okay, he couldn't care less about his baby getting blood stains when it is Sam's blood, about Sam possibly being in danger, but again, sarcasm is the only thing that keeps Dean from being worried sick.

"Yeah, sorry… I really didn't realize until just now," Sam nods.

"I know that you didn't… okay, now come the stitches…," Dean speaks, already threading the needle and everything to start his work.

"Want some Daniels to numb the pain a little?" Dean offers.

"No, I'm good, just… go on…," Sam smirks, eyeing the needle. Dean takes a deep breath before he starts the bloody work. He really hates patching up his younger brother. Sam doesn't even squint as Dean punctures the sensitive skin. His fist is only flexing rhythmically to Dean's pace as he stitches the wound, which is the only proof for Dean that Sam actually feels it.

"We're almost done, Sam, just a bit longer," Dean assures, for himself now anyways. As a kid, it really helped to get Sam through the painful procedures, stitches, hand-made surgery in a stinky motel room with dim light, disinfection, treating any kind of injury. Dean would, back then, hold the younger brother's hand, tell him that it was nearly done, he would talk him through the pain, but now… now that is no longer necessary. He does it anyways because Dean did that for so long now… it's a habit just as well.

"It's fine," Sam murmurs with an actual strain in his voice.

"Alright, stitches are done. I'll wrap it up little quick and you should be good to go," Dean speaks after two more stitches. He quickly bandages the wound and claps Sam on the shoulder once as he gets up to bring back two glasses, one already filled with water.

"Here, take a couple of ibuprofen for the pain," Dean orders and hands Sam the glass along with two pills. Sam takes them obediently. Dean nods his approval, sets down the other glass, takes the first aid kit to store it back in one of the duffels and comes back with a bottle of Jack Daniels. He fills the two glasses and sits back down.

"Cheers to another damned demon sent back to hell," Dean says, lifting his glass. Sam does the same, using his good hand. _Okay_, some doctors might argue about consuming alcohol after injury and then with ibuprofen in the system, but Sam isn't going to drive anywhere any time soon and the younger man actually turned out to be handling such treatment better. At least it guarantees he sleeps through one night, _for once_ since Sam still has nightmares plaguing him as well as a light sleep to begin with and the older brother knows that Sam, at any given time, is hunting demons of any kind. So having Sam taking a sip is something the older brother will happily agree to if that means a night of sleep for the younger man. Screw health, they don't plan on growing too old anyways, sadly.

"Cheers to that," Sam smirks and both empty their glass in one swig. Suddenly Sam starts to laugh, laugh really hard, without true reason – and that is _really_ uncommon for Sam nowadays.

"What's so funny, Sammy-boy?" Dean frowns. Usually Sam is fine with having a glass, even with ibuprofen in the system. You adjust to almost anything after such a long time of practice.

"Gimme one more shot of Daniels and I'll tell you," Sam chuckles. Dean does it because he wants to know what his brother has in mind, since that smile on his face isn't just pain-med-induced, that much Dean can tell for sure by now.

"So?" the older brother frowns, demanding an answer.

"You know what?" Sam smirks.

"What? Spit already," Dean sighs with a roll of his eyes.

"I… I got a call from Bobby just today… he… he said that he received a mail," Sam smirks even broader.

"So?" Dean grimaces. What would they care about Bobby's mailbox?

"It was from dad," Sam laughs drily.

"_John_? What does he want?" Dean spats almost disgustedly. He successfully pushed that man far out of his mind for at least a while, but now he is right back at him, _the sucker_. Normally Dean doesn't have to think of the old man. He cornered him in the darkest place of his mind and was holding a gun to John's head if he dared to make just one step out of the shadows. After all, this man was the one to cause them so much pain that it almost broke his younger brother apart and made him the robot he can be at times – and that is something Dean could never forgive him. John took his Sammy away from him and for that he doesn't even deserve a sole thought wasted on him. But now this man is back, stepped out of the shadows and got Dean's imagined security man disarmed to take over once again. And it still leaves that unpleasantly tickling sensation inside Dean's stomach that Sam refers to him as _dad_. After all this man was anything to them _but_ a dad. He hasn't been a father, parent, guardian… _anything_! He just left them, coldly and icily as it can get.

"He's asked Bobby for a favor…," Sam chuckles, though the hurt in his eyes is just as clear.

"What kinda favor? What did John want, Sam?" Dean demands.

"And that is where it's turning funny… he's… _in jail_!" Sam cracks up laughing another time.

"What? Why would John be in jail? What did he do?" Dean grimaces. This simply doesn't fit together, so Dean thinks.

"Dunno for sure, Bobby didn't have details for me… only said that dad's ass is in jail now and that he asked Bobby to withdraw some money from his safe bank account so that he can take care of his business!" Sam laughs even harder.

"He asked Bobby to help him on that one, for real?" Dean shakes his head in disbelief. Usually John would never break the news about getting his sorry ass into jail to anyone because he would be too damn embarrassed to admit a mistake. And then with Bobby... he should know that Bobby would rather shoot him dead.

"Yep," Sam nods.

"Did Bobby do it yet?" Dean frowns.

"Nope, Bobby said that an idiot who got himself into jail should be able to get his own ass out," Sam shrugs.

"That's _so_ like Bobby… Well, serves John about right, huh?" Dean smirks.

"Well, Bobby asked me if _we_ want him to withdraw the money for dad, you know?" Sam says, now rather serious.

"And you break the news to me just now _coz_…?" Dean grimaces. After all, Sam should have told him about something as important as this right away.

"Coz the demon moved in on the house before I got the chance to tell you. You remember? You came back to get food, with the news that he was on the move. We just rushed to the car and were looking for the thing," Sam argues, and Dean knows Sam is telling the truth on that one. Again, Sam doesn't keep secrets about such things, even if there obviously are things left unspoken at some point, at least things about the past. In the present, though, the two vowed to one another to be straight-up honest with each other and both try their hardest to stick to that.

"Yeah, right… almost forgot. So okay… John's in jail…," Dean frowns.

"Yep, dad's in jail for whatever reason…," Sam sighs, shaking his head.

"Well, that's just… not out of this world," Dean exhales.

"Yeah… oh, before I forget it… could you get my jacket little quick?" Sam asks.

"Sure, hold on a sec," Dean nods.

He gets the jacket and gives it to Sam. He fumbles in one of his pockets to retrieve his cell. He clicks through the menu until he finally found what he was probably looking for. He puts the cell down and slides it over to his older brother, face-down.

"So?" Dean frowns.

"Bobby gave me the address… of the jail, I mean… you know, if you want… there's your chance of seeing him…," Sam speaks, sounding totally sober, intensely glaring at his older brother.

"What? I…," Dean says with disbelieving eyes.

"We could drive there, Dean, you know… pay him a visit…," Sam speaks, half sadly half drily.

"And you really want to look John in the eye after… _everything_?" Dean questions. He still has a hard time believing it that Sam actually _considers_ it after everything their father put them through, for everything he did to Sam.

"I ask you if _you_ want, Dean," Sam argues calmly.

"Well, but I think you got the most say in this, and do _you_ really wanna see him?" Dean retorts.

"I'm actually not so sure… there is a lot about this to consider," Sam grimaces.

"Like what? In what way to rip him apart?" Dean shoots back angrily.

"Dean, we are not going to do… we don't do that… in public, they got cameras," Sam argues, even if he actually considered it some time ago, too.

"So what? You wanna go there? See him? After all he's done? Really?" Dean retorts.

"I seriously don't know what would be so troublesome about simply _seeing_ him coz… we still got all options, right?" Sam frowns.

"_Options_?" Dean grimaces.

"Well, you can go ahead and see him, talk to him, tell him he's an ass or do whatever else, try something really funny and… forgive him… dunno, kick him in the face… kick him in the nuts… flip him over… laugh at him and then leave… there are all kinda options left for us…," Sam sighs.

"You actually consider to forgive…," Dean gapes. To _forgive_ John for what he did to them is something Dean would never consider in a million years, at least he tells that to himself.

"I don't consider anything at that point, Dean. I am as lost as you probably are coz I mean… after all that's happened… I am not sure if I, you know, did something really bad to him… but I don't want to take the chance away from you to… finish some business you might have with dad, you know, to tell him what you really think… that can bring closure for some people and perhaps for you, too… I'm just saying, you know?" Sam offers.

"You know the address by now?" Dean asks drily.

"Is it important?" Sam questions.

"To _me_ it is coz if you knew, you'd run around knowing of the chance to see him and then you can't embrace it coz I don't want to, and you're loaded with the knowledge like I was back then when John took off… and I would be the one left in some sorta bliss, just telling myself I don't know, even if I could. That is unfair towards you, simple as that," Dean explains.

"Well, to reassure you, I didn't open the message yet. I just had Bobby send me the address in a text. I could go ahead and delete it without sneaking a peek just as well," Sam explains honestly.

"Alright…," Dean sighs.

"So, what you wanna do?" Sam asks.

"For now?" Dean arches an eyebrow.

"For now…," Sam frowns. He doesn't know exactly where his older brother is heading with that kind of question. Dean takes the phone, clicks a few buttons and slides it back over the table.

"For now I want to watch TV. One of the first versions of "_Dracula_" is on tonight," Dean states.

"Well, sure, if that's what you want…," Sam shrugs. He left Dean the choice, so he is fine with either way the older brother is going to deal with the situation.

"Well, even if I might consider to go there… I think it serves John about just right to have his ass in jail for a little while longer. I am sure he won't have luck with Caleb or Pastor Jim lending him the money he needs for whatever it is he needs the safe-bank-account-money for because they surely would tell him a word or two and Bobby would bite their heads off if he caught them doing that. Bobby would either try anything to leave them out of this or actually call and tell them to leave John exactly where he is. I mean, he knows the story. Bobby would never act before we gave our _'__okay'_, right?" Dean smirks, now almost relieved.

"Right," Sam nods.

"So for now we will take that all smoothly, watch a movie, and you'll get your arm better before we even _consider_ anything. We don't have to rush things, right? If John actually wants to go the legal way, he is probably in a jail he can't escape from or is in the real deep shit. So why would we – after all this time – get all worked up about him spending a few nights on plank bed?" Dean grins.

"Alright, I don't mind," Sam shrugs.

"Okay, so we'll think this through very carefully, but for now… I'm so not in the mood to brood over this. C'mon, you lie down now. Ibuprofen and Daniels at the same time? You'll hit the pillows little soon and I don't wanna drag your sorry ass from over here to the bed, you're too much of a gigantor, Sasquash," Dean smirks. He has a supportive hand on Sam's shoulder as he stands up and Sam lies down on his bed. Dean does the same, switches on the TV and both watch the Dracula movie.

"You know what's even funnier than the fact dad's in jail?" Sam smirks.

"What?" Dean grins back.

"That is the exact same film we went to the movies for back in Georgia where we walked out on dad," Sam chuckles softly.

"Is it?" Dean frowns. He already knows that Sam is sure it is, after all he is great remembering things. He can recite ten pages of exorcism, so _yeah_, he knows which film it has been.

"Yeah, I am fairly sure," Sam nods.

"Well, that's kinda ironic…," Dean smirks.

"Yep, but you know what's even better about it?" Sam grins.

"Shoot, Captain Mysterious?" Dean jokes.

"Dad's not gonna make us run in the morning," Sam states, and even if he is chuckling, he sounds incredibly relieved and sad at the same time.

"Yeah…," Dean sighs.

Soon Sam falls asleep, visibly exhausted after everything that happened the day. Dean's mind is still racing over the fact that their father suddenly is within reach again and is so abruptly part of their lives again, if Dean had vowed the day he took off that this was a clean cut and John and the two sons would be strangers to each other from now on. However, Sam is right with what he says at some point. John is no longer there to make them run in the morning. They are independent of him now.

"He's got no longer power over us, Sammy…," Dean whispers with half a smile on his face.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Week 3 before Graduation**_

Dean cautiously enters the dark room. Sam didn't even turn on the lights when he came in, and it's black inside. Dean stumbles at least three times, which makes it even more of a miracle Sam didn't fall over just once, but he can hear the soft cries coming from Sam's bed.

"Hey, it's me, Dean, you know, your awesome big brother?" Dean jokes half-heartedly. Sam just sniffles, unable to speak.

"How 'bout I switch on the lights, alright? I think I already sliced one calf open on the metal of the bed…," Dean smirks. He can hear a faint laugh coming from Sam's bed. The older brother knows that this is a "_yes, alright_", so he goes ahead and switches on the lights. Sam is, as already predicted, on the bed, back resting against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, the mop of brown curls covered in the blue denim of his jeans, and arms defensively put around the long frame. That's the posture Sam always had when he argued with dad. It's a matter of self-protection, to shield himself off of the crap around him. Dean goes ahead and takes his seat on the edge of Sam's bed.

"You shouldn't have done that, Dean," Sam suddenly says, still with the face buried in the denim.

"Shouldn't have done what, Sammy?" Dean frowns.

"You shouldn't have said those things to dad. Now he's mad at you just as well. I really didn't want you to be put through that. It's my business," Sam explains guilt-ridden.

"Sam, _you're_ my business, so your business is mine, too. I wanted to tell dad those things in a while, and just now was the perfect moment to do so. I mean, I don't know if he had some stones for breakfast, but surely he is acting as if he's trying to crap them out now and I am done listening to him telling such shit," Dean says.

"I just didn't think dad would… you know, go as far as to… to trick me, pretty much. He knew I would understand it in such a way that I would be able to join graduation, the ceremony, I mean. He played with that. And that's what hit me so hard. Dad usually doesn't do that. He knew that I was working for that very hard. He knew I spent my days with jobbing in that supermarket, working my ass off, and…" Sam sighs heavily.

"Yeah, I still have a hard time believing you didn't kick that Kirby-dude in the balls yet. For one, he is ugly and fat… plus he stinks, will die a Trekkie-virgin… and for two… he makes you work like a slave… and you're treated as exactly such. I mean, you know, there actually exist laws that forbid such treatment and there even was a war going on for exactly that reason some time ago…" Dean smirks. And _yeah_, he had a hard time understanding that. Sam, after coming from school, would grab a bite to eat, and that already only on Dean's insistence, and then the youngster run down the street to spend the rest of the day in that supermarket carrying boxes of all sizes around just to put them in the original place, and that since they came to that town. Sam still did all his homework, fulfilled the training-schedule, and was on the hunts. The younger teen really isn't the one to complain, but the one day Sam came back home, the head deeply bowed, his sneakers barely lifting off the ground, dragging himself forward, Dean already knew something was not right with the kid. And when Sam sat down he let out such a cry that Dean jumped out of his boots when he heard it. For a moment the oldest really believed that his brother's neck had snapped into two, judging by that cry and the incredibly loud snap that echoed through the room. Sam had overdone it so much that he couldn't lie flat on the tensed and cramped back for at least two nights. Dean had to put up their entire arsenal of medication and whatever remedy he could come up with to ease Sam's pain at least some. And Dean was pretty damn close to drag him to hospital since the improvement was minimal and the older brother was _that_ close from slapping Sam square in the face because he still considered to go not only to school, but also to work for that Kirby again, even if he couldn't move a finger without it hurting like a bitch. And it took Dean a lot of effort to convince the younger man to leave the work at rest for at least another week and Sam had to promise he wouldn't overdo it another time.

"I know, I know, but I needed the money for the robe and everything," Sam argues with a soft smile. This time he is actually able to meet Dean' gaze. And Sam really looks like hell. His face is over with red blotches and is wet with tears. His eyes are red, too, and he simply looks like a mess.

"And I told you I would lend you the rest of the money," Dean sighs. After Sam's involuntary "_holiday_" because of his bad back, Dean had almost _pleaded_ Sam to take the damned money to pay for the gown and cap, but Sam had constantly refused. He just told Dean that he needed to do that himself and that it was _his_ job. And no matter how much Dean argued, Sam shook his head and once he was better, the younger man returned to Kirby's shop to work his butt off yet again, and even if Sam didn't witness another day that bad, Dean knew Sam's back must still hurt today from the overdoing it for so long.

"Dean, I needed to do that on my own. It is _my_ thing to have graduation and everything. So it is _my_ thing to raise the money for it just as well. And I wanted to get it the… the legal way, the right way, just once. I could have hustled pool or something, card scram, but I wanted to honestly earn the money, you know? And that is also why I couldn't accept your money. You did enough for me, really. You definitely did me the greatest favor _ever_ with accepting to come and everything, excluding today because that was even _beyond_ that, but… I had to do that for myself, prove myself that I could do it without any help. I earned the grades, I earned the money, I earned the gown, the tassel, the cap… and to me that meant… it meant that I earned to be there that day," Sam explains.

"And you earned to be there, Sammy. You worked more than hard to get there," Dean reassures the younger man, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Even if I earned it… dad's not gonna budge, not after today. He won't even listen to me another time, Dean… graduation's… dead matter now… and so is that speech. I'll tell Mr. Parker first thing 'morrow that I can't accept and that someone else has to do it… yeah, probably is for the best. I don't want to destroy everything for the rest, I mean… they deserve to have a proper speech that day and I would hate to see their faces, waiting for me to give my speech, and I am two states away hunting a friggin' Wendigo. I don't want to disappoint them," Sam says flatly.

"Sam, you are not going to disappoint them coz you'll deliver that damned speech on graduation day!" Dean exclaims confidently.

"Yeah? How? Have me phone them and put me on loudspeaker while we are hiding from the beast?" Sam jokes half-heartedly. Dean has to smirk briefly, imagining the situation, but then he shakes his head forcefully to focus on Sam again.

"Okay, even if I think that would be rather dramatic, and probably one of the most exciting and special speeches ever given… but… no, Sam, you'll deliver that speech because you'll be there in that gown and with that stupid cap. You are going to give that speech of yours," Dean announces self-confidently.

"Dean, dad said…," Sam tries to argue, but he is interrupted by Dean.

"Dad said many stupid things tonight and I give a shit on it! Even if you and I have to hitchhike to get away and back here, we both are going to go to that graduation ceremony, period. I'll make it work somehow, Sammy. You'll see," Dean assures the younger man.

"Dean, you don't have to do this, not for my sake, really," Sam argues.

"I want to do it, Sam. Hell, my little brother is going to graduate. Don't you think that is something I am proud of? And he is orator! Okay, given, kinda the geek position, but _hey_, all people are at your will for at least a couple of minutes. Of course I am proud of that, Sam! And perhaps there is one of those cute cheerleaders around… _meow_…," Dean smirks.

"The cheerleaders won't be there because they are mostly seniors and those are graduating that day, means they are in normal dresses with the graduation-gown on tops. And the rest is not going to perform in a stuffed gym. No short cheerleader-skirts for you, bro," Sam grins.

"Hey, dresses are cute, too, and some mothers or sisters are surely available there just as well, Sammy-boy," Dean laughs. There is a moment of silence. And suddenly the room doesn't seem as dark anymore.

"Thanks for that, Dean. You can't imagine how much that matters to me, with everything. Thanks for that, big bro," Sam whispers.

"Just for you, Sammy, just for you. Oh, and I _so_ wanna try the Mexican wave!" Dean giggles.

"You try and you're dead. I'll, personally, do batman-dive down the stage, knock you down, and then I'll strangle you in front of the entire audience. I swear to God!" Sam cries out. Dean just claps a hand on Sam's shoulder. That's the brother he wants to see, not the one in tears, but the one with a smirk on his face, the one with a shimmer in his eyes, the one who is simply happy about having his big brother supporting him along the way.

"What do you have against Mexicans, Sammy? Are you a little racist?" Dean jokes.

"Well, you pull anything close to that and you are going to die in a gym… and that's what I'll engrave on your tombstone just as well: '_Here lies Dean Winchester. He died drowning in a Mexican wave in a school gym. He lived for hunts, fast food, hookers, cold beer, and more hookers, son of a bitch_'," Sam giggles. Dean can't help it but crack up laughing at that, too.

"I _so_ want the last part on my tombstone, the first part not, but the last is just amazing!" he smirks.

"I think I can arrange that. I got connections…," Sam grins.

"To whom? Sam I told you so many times not to talk to strangers with creepy jobs!" Dean jokes.

"You know, Kirby considers to open a side branch to his supermarket and sell tombstones with personal engravings for dumping prices! He's said it himself, everyone has to die one day, so why shouldn't we try to make at least a little profit from the inevitable?" Sam snickers.

"Good joke," Dean laughs full-heartedly.

"Who said I am joking?" Sam frowns soberly.

"What? You… you're serious? He actually…?" Dean grimaces disbelieving.

"Gotcha right there, Dean," Sam cracks up laughing. Sam is one hell of an actor sometimes that even Dean, the prince of all liars, gets caught up in the most ridiculous stories he's ever heard.

"Oh, now _you_'re dead, Sam!" Dean exclaims, before throwing himself at Sam to start a mock-fight.

Sam just starts to giggle and laugh as he fights back the attack from his older brother, reviving some of the funniest memories both share since early childhood. Dean will make sure Sam will have his ceremony with speech, cap, and gown because the Sam he is putting into a headlock is his little Sammy and for that little brother he would do anything.


	15. Chapter 15

**_Year 1_**

After it became palpable truth that John left his two sons behind with nothing but themselves, Dean spent a sleepless night watching Sam's form on the other bed, curled in on himself and crying for felt eternities until he was finally so worn out from his own sobbing that he slipped off into a somewhat state of sleep, or at least he didn't have the tears to keep going with the sobbing anymore.

"Hey," Sam speaks weakly, totally hoarse, as he turns around to sit up. He looks as if twenty years were simply taken from him, his hair lost its shine, his face is pale, the eyes sunken in, dull, and puffy from the tears, and his posture tells that he is simply aching all over. _Damn_.

"Hey there back," Dean nods, offering a comforting smile.

"You slept at least some?" Sam asks, rubbing his eyes.

"A little, dunno, you?" Dean asks with concern in his voice.

"I don't remember much about… last night… after our conversation anyways…," Sam sighs.

"Yeah…," Dean exhales. When Sam answered, a side of him hoped that Sam would say that he doesn't remember anything about last night, not the conversation, not the truth about John leaving, or that he was gone in the first place.

"Dean?" Sam asks, his voice sounding even more defeated than it already was.

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean almost jumps at that.

"What are we going to do now?" Sam questions. Dean is unable to read his expression, though. It is something between worry, sadness, anxiety, uncertainty, doubt, and a slight hint of coldness.

"Well, first I suppose we get something to eat…," Dean explains with a grimace.

"You know how I meant it, Dean. You don't have to goof around for my sake. I don't need the feathery touches just now and joking around isn't helping either… You and I… we should be straight-forward from now on, alright?" Sam demands. And even if the situation is just terrible, Dean is glad for one damned thing. Right now he is having his Sammy in front of him, not the new Sam, who isn't talking much, but the younger brother from long ago.

"Yeah, I'm sorry… it's just… I am not entirely sure myself," Dean sighs, honesty in his words.

"Yeah, me too… I mean… we were on ourselves before, but…," Sam exhales.

"But surely not like this!" Dean grumbles. There is a moment of silence.

"Well, the gig here's finished, right?" Sam questions after a while.

"Right," Dean nods.

"So we don't have to stay here for any reason…," Sam speaks mindfully.

"Nothing that could hold us here, Sammy," Dean nods again.

"Well, we can't stay here forever anyways. I don't know how it is about you, but I don't have that much money left to pay this room like for forever," Sam says, one arm resting on his thigh, and the other only sitting on the thigh with the elbow so that his hand is entangled in his curls, which hide his forehead.

"I got some left. We are good for at least a couple more days without having to worry," Dean assures the younger man. Suddenly even _that_ is a question. Before, John would always make sure they got money to get over the rough times, okay, not the legal way at times, but now they had to do that for themselves.

"This sucks!" Sam exclaims, gripping his curls with his fingers.

"Yeah, it does, Sammy, I know," Dean agrees sympathetically.

"So what are we supposed to do now, Dean?" Sam asks again, now even more desperate. He looks the older brother right in the eye.

"I would say we drive to Bobby's first thing, you know, to seek shelter for a little while, smooth things out some, try to get things straight before heading out or anything. I'm sure he'll let us stay as long as we want. The man half-way raised us, too, huh?" Dean then answers, sounding almost optimistic.

"And you don't think he is in on dad with this one?" Sam questions.

"I am sure Bobby wouldn't deceive us, even if he did have a clue about dad leaving," Dean assures his younger sibling. Of course Sam is a little suspicious towards everyone and everything right now, _understandably_. If you found out your own father, the man who is supposed to love you unconditionally and through any crisis, simply ditched you… you start to lose faith in what is called a family or… a fair world.

"If you say so, Dean…," Sam sighs uncomfortably.

"Sam, Bobby loves us, you know that. Dad parked us in his yard since… _ever_. And he always said he was glad to have us around, remember? That's not going to change, believe me," Dean reassures Sam, even if the argument is kind of weak at some point because their father was supposed to love them, too, and what happened? He _ditched_ them, but well, Sam's mind is some other place anyways, so _screw it_.

"Yeah, you're probably right, Dean… it's just…," Sam sighs.

"Shit!" Dean completes with half a smirk.

"Pretty much," Sam nods. It's not the word he was looking for, but it sums up their all-over-situation pretty well at that point.

"Bobby probably really is the best choice for now. I mean, you can read all the books you want, remember? His library is huge," Dean tries to encourage his younger brother. Sam always loved staying at Bobby's when they were still kid, even later on, but with a little less of the childish excitement he had back in the old days. He would just sit down in Bobby's library and read all the dusty books he could find. Bobby's place always had some kind of magic. Dean could work on the cars in the yard all he wanted and Sam had his books. It took the mind off of the obvious, that their father had left them yet another time, at least it did for a little while, and both, since early childhood, had learned to appreciate that. It was one of the few places both regarded a refuge, a home.

"So we go to Bobby's?" Sam questions.

"That the plan," Dean nods.

"Okay… like now? Or you wanna rather wait some more?" Sam asks hesitantly.

"I, personally, have nothing to hold me in such a sucking place, no. I would just love to escape from this rat hole!" Dean states with certainty in his voice. He links all bad memories and thoughts with this place, with what was done to Sam and him. So why would he insist on staying there?

"Alright," Sam nods.

"Do _you_ want to stay, Sammy?" Dean asks softly. He can only speak for himself, perhaps Sam needs some more time to regain his focus before taking off to face Bobby.

"No… I… I don't think so, actually… right now… this room only makes me one thing, and that's sick," Sam explains, one arm over his stomach. Dean can fully understand that, though, because the same kind of lump settled in his guts.

"Okay, then we'll pack up little quick, check out, and then leave town. We can get something to eat on the way, right?" Dean offers.

"Yeah, sounds good," Sam answers faintly. He gets up from his bed, looking strained with every movement, and starts get up his duffel to pack in his belongings. Dean quietly does the same, always a close eye on his kid brother.

"We should probably pack that in, too," Sam suddenly says with a bitter voice. Dean spins around and sees Sam's limp hands wrapped around John's journal. His eyes are searching for guidance.

"Yeah, probably… we might…," Dean trails off.

"We might need it later, I know," Sam nods with a dry voice. He walks back to his duffel and puts the journal on tops of his belongings, and Dean can see even from his spot that Sam's hands are shaking, shaking _badly_.

"Alright, all done. You ready, too, Sammy?" Dean asks after a while.

"I'm good," Sam nods, his voice still hoarse. Dean shoulders his duffel, walks up to the younger sibling, rests a supportive hand on his shoulder, and then both make their leave, without losing another word. They don't look back just once.

They check out quickly and soon drive down the roads to hopefully bring them to Bobby's as fast as possible. Dean stops by to get gas and something to eat. Now he munches his sandwich while Sam is still busy eye-sexing the food, not eating it.

"Sam, you gotta eat something. You didn't eat any since two days ago," Dean says worriedly. And that is true. Sam was so upset about their dad leaving that he didn't eat, but rather pushed the buttons of his cell till they were almost bleeding and then Dean broke the news to the youngest that their dad didn't take off for a hunt, but left them permanently. And since Sam, of course, couldn't swallow a bit.

"I'm just not hungry," Sam answers flatly.

"Not so much of the question. Just take few bites so that you don't get sick on the ride, okay? For me?" Dean bargains. Sam has to eat something. That kid is running low on energies anyways. If he doesn't get anything nutritious on the spot, Dean fears the younger brother might just as well fall over and earn himself a trip to hospital – and that they truly can't use at the moment in any way. Dean is hit by a wave of nostalgia, though. When Sam, as a kid, had problems, he would always refuse food and Dean had to bribe him into eating something. Funny enough that Sam, when he is the most hurt, retrieves to being much more like his childish self again.

"I think I will only get sick if I eat this," Sam argues. Dean can understand it, though. Sam is probably feeling sick the whole time anyways, but the big brother can't have Sam truly sick in such a situation. At least Sammy has to be healthy, for all that matters. That is the one thing he can do for now, and Dean wants to fix at least the things within his reach.

"C'mon, dude, you don't want me begging, do you? Give it a rest and just grab a few bites, then I leave you at peace, promise," Dean tries another time. Sam silently sighs and nibbles some of the sandwich, even if he has the feeling that his intestines are in a tight knot at that point.

"Atta boy," Dean smirks, but Sam falls silent another time.

"You'll see, Sammy, we'll be at Bobby's in no time and then everything will be a little less pain in the ass, believe me," Dean tries to reassure his brother. However, Sam silences again, seemingly brooding.

"What's on your mind, dude, huh? You let me in on that one?" Dean sighs, leaning forward a little. He doesn't want his baby brother to shut him out. Dean can`t afford to lose Sam, too.

"I'm just thinking," Sam replies weakly.

"Seemingly. And about what?" Dean asks.

"About what will happen now, Dean… everything was turned upside-down… what seemed solid and predictable… is now… _chaos_. We have to… arrange ourselves, completely new," Sam sighs, looking defeated.

"We'll figure this out, _together_. As long as we two stick together, everything will become less of a chaos, sooner or later, Sammy. We can pull this off, trust me," Dean assures.

"You know, it's a year now since I came out of school…," Sam sighs.

"Yeah," Dean nods.

"I don't know, suddenly I can only think about that one question I asked during my speech… Forty years from now… where will we stand? Where are we going to be, Dean? Huh?" Sam questions sadly.

"I am not sure. I won't lie to you, Sammy. God knows what will happen. It's like you said, we have to set our priorities all over again, but… forty years from now… I think we'll be at least together to go through this, huh?" Dean smirks. And this is the first time that Sam actually smiles back at him, finding comfort in his words.

"I hope so, too. The two of us against the rest of the world, right?" Sam grins.

"Exactly, us against all the sons of bitches out there," Dean nods with a smile on his face.

And the Impala roars down the empty highways while "_Carry on My Wayward Son_" hammers out of the loudspeakers.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Day 1 after Graduation_**

"… That brunette you were walking in line with was kinda cute, though," Dean smirks. They are on their ride to meet up with their dad as they promised. Sam gives it a faint grin.

"Her name's Chloe," Sam rolls his eyes. With Dean... that's what you get, always about the Ladies.

"Definitely cheerleader-material, dude," Dean muses.

"She's math-lete, you know?" Sam smirks.

"You're kidding me, right? She's one hottie walking the face of earth!" Dean exclaims disbelieving.

"Nope, she is in the science club, too, works part-time in labs and everything…" Sam explains.

"You know, during my time at High School the nerd-girls had huge glasses on, with tape on the part for the nose, had braces, wore ugly organic clothes and made those grunting noises when they found something incredibly funny, though it was not. What happened to those?" Dean frowns.

"Well, not all nerds are necessarily ugly, even if we certainly had those at school the very same way, but Chloe was actually pretty cool. People like her a lot," Sam smirks.

"Well, certainly I would have _liked_ her, too! Dude, she _really_ is a hottie!" Dean grins.

"You know, her dad's is a physicist teaching at college, her mum is neurologist, one of the best in the country. The only reason why she isn't the class's best is because she sucks in sports really bad, always flunks it. She can't even throw a ball properly. Oh yeah, and she struggles with foreign languages, Spanish and so on. She had to take the class to get her credits in line, but she is more for the sciences, so that's why. I mean, that's the advantage I got from the job. Because of the training, school sport never was an issue, and because of the Latin exorcisms I know the origin of the Roman languages, so I don't struggle so much with Spanish or French, you know," Sam shrugs.

"Well, good to hear that. Remember to mention that to dad in a while. He is going to be _delighted_," Dean jokes.

"If conversation takes that course, I will, certainly. But I am not going to push it. We had the deal after all…," Sam sighs.

"Yeah, well, that deal… _screw that_! Dad wanted to break it back then by taking you out of school before ceremony. The only reason why you went to graduation was because of us two convincing him. So if you asked me, you really don't have to stick to it, Sam," Dean retorts. He is still angry at John for the events of that night. He never apologized to Sam for what he had said and that is why Dean didn't forgive the father yet either. He can be a dense bullhead at times, but that simply went too far, and that is probably reason why the older brother is so eagerly on Sam's side now.

"A deal's a deal, Dean. And I got my ceremony and everything. I… I owe…," Sam says hesitantly, but Dean interrupts him.

"You owe dad _nothing_ for that. And before you come to say it, you don't owe me for it either. You don't owe anything to anyone. It was your right to attend that ceremony, _period_. And dad tried to trick you to get you out earlier, even after that conversation. So you don't have to feel bad about it, even if I still don't understand the essentials of that deal since both of you constantly refuse to tell me. I mean… is it really just that you don't argue with dad about the hunts for the next couple of weeks? He really bought that? I still have a hard time believing that!" Dean frowns towards the end.

"Dean…," Sam sighs uncomfortably.

"What? Don't Dean-me. I am on your side, you remember that? So it would be really polite of you to let me in on that one," Dean argues.

"Well, you know… before we came here we really took a lot of hunts, right?" Sam starts.

"Yeah, we did," Dean nods in agreement. It really had been tough before so that even Dean was close before calling in.

"I actually spent more time in some forest to watch out for the next creature than I was in the school building of either school I was assigned to at that time," Sam carries on.

"Well, yeah, but was it really that much…?" Dean frowns mindfully. Sam likes to exaggerate at times.

"I counted," Sam says confidently and Dean knows that Sam is telling the truth now.

"Okay," Dean nods because he knows if Sam says so, then it really is that way. _He counted_.

"Well, I had more and more trouble to keep up my grades, I mean… I didn't drop or anything, but… I was tired when I got to class and had a hard time listening to what the teachers said because I was _that_ close from allowing my head to hit the desk and I'd be off to la-la-land," Sam explains.

"That bad, huh?" Dean grimaces. He honestly didn't have a plan about Sam struggling that much, otherwise the older brother certainly would have done something about it.

"Yeah, that bad. I mean, because of the constant moving around it was hard anyways to catch up with the work, but I was Senior, which meant we had more tasks to do, right? You probably still remember, at least you complained about it during your Senior Year… we were working on finals after all. That meant I needed more time for my assignments, the notebooks, the papers, the presentations… but with dad dragging us from one hunt to the other… we were barely at home and I couldn't do all my assignments on the way from one gig to the next, sitting in the back of the Impala, right? So I spent my nights with doing the stupid homework and everything, just so that I could hand them in to the time they were due," Sam explains.

"You did? I didn't even realize. And we always share rooms, if we don't have one room only anyways," Dean frowns.

"I did it in the bathroom," Sam nods.

"The bathroom?" Dean grimaces.

"Yeah, the bathroom, Dean. Now don't gimme that look. I could switch on the lights without waking you guys and I had the time to finish my assignments. It worked, for the moment, but… it was getting too much for me to handle," Sam admits.

"Too much to handle?" Dean grimaces. He knows that Sam really isn't the one to give in to tiredness easily, or to obstacles on hand, but when Sam says it's too much, then it definitely is.

"Well, you remember the hunt we had in the neighbor town, the vengeful spirit haunting her former workplace, the pottery, after her business partner killed her and burned her in the oven?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, that bitch…," Dean sighs.

"Well, you probably remember that I got one of those pots right in the back of the head so that I was knocked out for a little while," Sam continues.

"Yeah, scared the crap out of me," Dean hissing. Gladly, Sam wasn't even concussed, just had a nice lump, but still.

"Well, truth to be told… the thing was aimed at my back," Sam explains uncomfortably.

"How you wanna know? And why is that important?" Dean frowns.

"Well, I went down before the vase came at me, microsleep, you know? My head dropped coz I was taking a _nap_, and my knees went kinda weak, too, at least that's what I suppose," Sam explains further. That is when it clicks inside Dean's head. Sam was fainting when it happened and that's why the vase ended up in the back of his head.

"Why didn't you tell me about that?" Dean demands.

"I didn't think it was that bad until then, really. It never happened before and the night before we went to the hunt, be sure I spent my time in bed. I would never intentionally put you guys at risk for that. I honestly thought I was going to be fine. And I told dad the very same night that I needed a break," Sam explains, honesty in his voice.

"Okay, so you told dad…," Dean says, his voice trailing off.

"I said that I couldn't handle both school and overly pushed hunting at the same time, that it was simply too much for me and that I realized that it's getting to me on the hunts. So I asked him for a break until finals would be over, or at least to cut down the hunts to a smaller number. At first he was angry of course, you know, called me a selfish ass again and again… but the good thing was that he actually wanted either one of us to have at least the High School degree, so he couldn't tell me to cut down school and not the hunts and that the teachers would have been attentive about an A-student suddenly dropping to D's and F's. And then we would have had social service tailing our asses, which dad surely didn't want… However, he, of course, wasn't just going to give in. He said that we would make a deal. I would get my time to finish my school the proper way and I would stop whining about the hunts…," Sam explains further.

"That's where we already were at before, Sammy," Dean sighs.

"And he said that this is the matter of choice. I was allowed to be on school full-time pretty much, for our standards, and then I would be on full-time hunting after that the very same way, and then there would be nothing but the hunts…," Sam exhales.

"So okay, so this was like a bargain… you took school now and then you are at his will for how long?" Dean grimaces.

"There's no dead-line to this, Dean," Sam sighs.

"What? What do you mean?" Dean frowns.

"Just that my last day of school was my last day of school. Now I am officially a hunter, fully, from head to toe. The deal was about falling into line without asking questions. I mean, in the end the deal was crappy anyways coz… what other choices are there, huh? I mean, I was going to join family business nevertheless. So dad actually got the bad end without his realization," Sam smirks faintly.

"And you're fine with that?" Dean questions.

"A deal's a deal… and I never broke a promise yet either…," Sam mumbles as he opens the window, leans his arm on the armrest so that his hand sticks out, and then falls into deep silence.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing my story. Your reviews have been so nice and kind and... just thank you. So here comes the next chapter, hope you enjoy ;)

* * *

**_Year 6_**

"I'll go grab something to eat. Whatcha want?" Sam asks as he gets up from his chair.

"Burgers and pie," Dean smirks.

"Of course, why did I even bother to ask, huh?" Sam rolls his eyes: "C'mon, give me the car keys already. I am not going to walk all the way to town." Dean grimaces at that.

"Ah, but my baby really doesn't like to have another guy in the driver's seat," Dean sighs.

"Yeah, but since the guy usually in the driver's seat was stupid enough to get himself thrown down the stairs in the haunted building in Wyoming and is still suffering from a broken rib and a dislocated shoulder I guess she will understand. Or if you still got issues, then we can just as well starve to death, I don't mind," Sam shoots back. Dean reluctantly fumbles for his keys before he throws them over to his younger sibling. Sam rolls his eyes again before he leaves without another word. Dean lets out a sigh, even if he appreciates it to a certain degree that Sam is caring for him so much to do all the services, but well… the older man is getting bored, _of course_.

Dean Winchester, since early childhood would get bored whenever he had to stay in the motel rooms for too long, no matter if it was a broken arm, a gunshot wound, or just the flu. He just couldn't lie still more than necessary. Anything was better than lying around, staring at the ceiling. And now Sam is doing every run to the grocery store and restaurant since Wyoming, so five days, and Dean is starting to get claustrophobic. He gets up, walking through the room. Thanks to the ibuprofen Sam hands him regularly he is pretty much pain-free, which is a really good thing. He briefly skims through the newspapers on the table. Sam picked them up on one of his grocery trips, for possible new gigs, but the younger man didn't look them through yet. Dean can tell because Sam would have scribbled all over the pages to mark off important details and so on. Sam has always been the better and more thorough researcher of the two. Dean decides that he is not in the mood for work, though. So he allows his eyes to travel through the room another time. Anything hunt-related would actually piss him off now.

"Hm, let's see if Sammy's got some fun-stuff for me to mess with," he speaks to himself. _Okay_, he isn't supposed to go through Sam's stuff, but that never held him back from doing it because Dean is the big brother after all, and his only rule in life is to break the rules. Because of Dean having to make recovery first, they actually decided to stay in the town long enough for both of them to get at least the clothing stored in the wardrobes. That makes it easier to cut to the fun stuff in the bag because Dean is certainly not interested in worn tees and underwear of his younger sibling. Dean shoves his hand into the duffel to retrieve their father's journal first. He snorts once before he half-heartedly tosses it on Sam's bed, digging further into the bag.

Then he finds Sam's own journal. The younger man started it shortly after their father took off. Sam copied important information about the monsters and other things, such as eclipse times, records, theories, addresses, hints, theories, maps, and whatever else he found useful, and now adds new stuff they figured ever since, to make it his own, as Sam had always said. Even if the brother still believes the younger man also did it as part of coping. Dean also knows that it makes it easier for Sam to look at John's journal because that way the younger brother can tell himself it is only to completely get past that man to really make this all "_his own_" since that is the one thing they figured was important ever since, to make their lives their own. Then John's journal is no longer a painful memorabilia, but instead is a useful source of information and one day can probably be thrown away because everything is then absorbed into Sam's journal – a matter of riddance for the youngest… Of course everything is neatly written, tightly in line, in perfect order, with sticky notes, neatly underlined and highlighted parts, pictures, printed out articles, and whatever else it is that Sam actually finds useful because Dean sometimes fails to figure how that could actually have a reason.

"The little geek," Dean smirks before putting it aside. He knows he can have a look at it at any given time because Sam doesn't write personal things in there, in contrast to their father, but only things that concern the hunts, and that knowledge he always shares with his older brother.

The book Dean gave Sam as a birthday present before it turned out John had been in jail comes out next, then a nice set of silver knives, and a beautiful flask of Holy Water. And then there is an odd object Dean suddenly has in hands, a box.

It's an antique looking wooden box with nice old metal pieces and hinges. Dean eyes the object with curiosity, twisting it in his hands for a couple of seconds. He had never seen it before and he wasn't aware of Sam possessing such a thing. Dean sets the box on the bed and opens the lid. He still could go back, but the curiosity got the better of the big brother by now and he wants to know what is in there for real.

At first he finds the fang of, _yes_, a vampire. Dean always knew Sammy was a little creeper. Then there is a fired bullet. Dean twists it in his hands, mindfully eyeing the object. It was fired and hit something, that much is for sure because it is totally deformed. He looks at the back to find something carved into the material, neatly, tiny, in fine lines "1996, 1st" – 1996 was the time Sam first took a bullet for his older brother, a day neither one of them would ever be able to forget. It had hit him right in the thigh, missing the artery only by inches. John had to retrieve the bullet himself, with forceps, in the dim light of a shabby motel room. Dean had to hold Sam down by the shoulders when the pain was flooding over him and Dean, guilt- and fear-ridden couldn't help himself but mumbled nonsense about how they used to play with the toy soldiers when they were still kids. Sam had passed out couple of times during the process because he couldn't take the pain anymore.

Dean shudders at the thought, but then he has to smile nevertheless because Sam kept a bullet he had dodged for him, _yeah_, Sammy really was the one for feathery touches about these things. At least it was typical for Sam to have such memorabilia and then store them in a box, just like the younger brother still has tendencies to put emotions and secrets into tiny little boxes that are always out of reach for Dean.

Sam still struggles with showing his true emotions for many parts, but since they encountered John the younger man was doing what Dean would call a "_recovery_" of sorts. He is laughing more since, shows weakness at times, and tells Dean more often what really is on his mind what keeps him from sleeping. The folder-thing was successfully put to an end. Sam still does a lot of research, almost all of it, but the folders are gone – _for good_ – and he lets Dean help him when he asks for it. And much to Sam's annoyance, Dean insisted on burning the folders, minus the information in them, as a symbolic act. They are back to normal standards about these, back to Status Quo. Sam still goes for runs, but is less desperate about it when he misses out a day or two. Now it is simply to be "_blank_" for a few hours and Dean can live with that, since he is no longer afraid Sam will not return one day. Now he is sure Sam would never do so. The younger brother is bitching about Dean's greasy foods and he laughs at the older man's jokes more often, or shoves him if they are too stupid. They call each other "_bitch_" and "_jerk_" again, more regularly now. Sam takes hot showers, leaving Dean to argue for first shower, much to his own pleasure. Sam still has the nightmares and they are still freaking him out. Moreover, they often turn out to be true and Dean has to be careful when he wakes Sam from his nightmares because the younger man's body still likes to flip him over at times because Sam is fighting imaginary monsters in one of his dreams. Both arranged themselves with that, though, somehow. Sam still doesn't read many books, at least no literature from former days. It's mostly hunt-related and when Dean pokes him for answers, Sam's only and honest reply is that up till now he can't read a fictional book and actually see the situation, imagine it, feel it. And with that magic gone, he doesn't see the sense in reading. Sam doesn't shrug his shoulders that much anymore, which is really a lot to Dean's pleasure because he hated it when Sam did. So yeah, Sammy is coming back to life again, and Dean could still jump up and down in joy becaus of that.

The older hunter shakes his head before he carries on with his quest in the box. There is a toy soldier coming next. The older hunter knows that some are still in the ashtray of the Impala, but Sam seemingly wanted to save his memories with his little box, and because he links the toy soldiers with a respectively carefree childhood, it landed there, most likely, or so Dean figures.

Then there is a picture of the entire Winchester family, it's crumbled and the color is already fading. Mom is holding baby Sam in her arms, John wrapping a strong arm around her skinny frame and Dean is standing in the middle, smirking broadly into the camera. The older brother can still remember where Sam got that from. Dean gave it to the younger sibling himself when Sam learned that their mom wasn't killed in a car accident, but died at the hands of a demon. Dean had told his little brother that _this_ is how he should always remember his family, no matter what, _that_ was reality, even if his mom didn't die the way he had believed, the love for her family had been for real. And if Sam ever doubted this world, he was supposed to look at the photograph to remind himself that this was what they were fighting for. Sam had silently nodded at that and had kept it all those years.

Then there is an antique-looking rosary. Dean frowns at that. Since when is Sam a faithful type of a guy, especially since he is hunting bastards that were also released because of any kind of faith? But well, Sam always has a tendency for turning out to be different from the expected. A man against all odds, as Dean likes to say.

Dean digs further to find a crumbled 20-dollar-bill, but he can't figure what that could be for – unless it's Sam's _last-resort-bucks-for-really-bad-times-or-when-you-desperately-need-a-cheap-hooker_-_money_. At least that is what Dean has one hundred bucks for, hidden in his duffel.

He then retrieves some shredded paper. Putting the pieces together, the older man has to realize it's Sam's graduation speech, the one he had ripped apart on stage before he simply said what was on his mind. Dean smiles at that. He didn't even catch Sam getting those back.

The older hunter finds another crumbled piece of paper, this time with an unknown phone number scribbled on it, but Dean can tell it was a woman who wrote this since the digits are all round and are written with a violet pen, nothing a man would ever use – unless gay, and even if Dean likes to accuse Sam of it, he is not swinging that way.

Then there is another picture, this time… Dean has to brightly smirk at that. It's one of the pictures he took on Sam's graduation day, the one with both their faces almost glued together, grinning stupidly into the camera. It reminds the older man of how happy the both of them had been that day and for that he just needs to look Sam in the eyes. His hazels are glistering with joy and… _relief_, almost. Even if everything went down after that, kinda... they were happy that day, no way to deny it.

And then there is a folded sheet of paper. Dean frowns as he gets it out. It seems like it has never been unfolded since it was stashed in the box, on the very bottom of it. He hesitantly unfolds the thick paper and his eyes directly jump to the headline "_Stanford University_" – Dean gulps. What did his brother have to do with _Stanford_? He had never been to college and… Dean grimaces before he starts to read what is written below the nice emblem.

"_Dear Mr. Samuel Winchester,_

_Your teacher, Mr. Parker, sent us a résumé of yours, enclosing a personal letter to explain this certainly uncommon situation. It is not part of the procedure for a High School teacher to apply for his student to our facility. However, the Headboard of Stanford found it incredible to see not only the grades of yours, which can be considered one of the best results we have seen in years, but also the personal letter enclosed, as well as the evaluation of your social qualities were highly impressing. _

_Mr. Parker informed us about the hardships you, Mr. Winchester, seemingly have to deal with, namely the fact that you are constantly moving around and were to many schools throughout your educational career. Still your grades are constantly above the average and you are graduating from High School not only a year earlier, but you also enrolled later than most of your classmates did, which only underlines your high potential. _

_The Board was overly pleased to read about your social qualities. Mr. Parker explained more than vividly and much into detail how much you care for others and expressed your wish to protect people who cannot protect themselves. Your readiness to sacrifice your own personal desires for the sake of others is something even an educational Board such as ours cannot ignore. _

_Mr. Parker further mentioned that you have a high intelligence and are able to embrace even complicated concepts without much effort. Even if you never took a test to evaluate your IQ, we are certain you inherit a level equal to the ones that we invited to our school with a full scholarship. Moreover, you have a great talent memorizing facts, which will certainly be helpful for a lawyer. _

_Your teacher underlined more than clearly that your integrity is on a level he never met in his entire career as it goes so far that you _**deliberately**_ did _**not**_ write college applications because of your family and their need of you doing what Mr. Parker coined as "family business". Even if we are not entirely sure about the story behind this, we do understand that this only underlines your level of personal growth and your social qualities. Certainly our Board has never received such a letter and we never received such an excellent résumé. _

_Our school is a school of old tradition and it is our greatest wish to meet these standards. _

_However, we cannot ignore a talent such as yours and deliberately leave him in such a situation if we could help in some way because as a school we see our highest executive in _**teaching**_. And to teach a student means to take responsibility for him, even if he cannot do that for himself. We, as the Representatives of the University of Stanford, have to offer chances to people like you, Mr. Winchester. For you we have to open the gates. _

_And that is the real reason for this letter. _

_We want to offer you, Mr. Samuel Winchester, a chance of designing your own future. We want to open our gates for a talent like you to give you the chance to embrace your abilities and expand them. _

_And with this letter we, the Board of Stanford, offer you a full scholarship to our University. _

_The money should not be an issue when it is about passing down knowledge to the next generation, so the entire Board agrees._

_You would not have to worry about paying loans or school feels. Everything would be taken care of, financially wise at least. _

_However, once you apply to our school, you will have to meet the same standards any of our students has to meet. You will not be treated any differently than the other students. You will not receive extra-credits for your background and you will have to afford the other things you consider necessary for your lifestyle by yourself, too, Mr. Winchester. _

_It will be a lot of work for you, but of one thing we can assure you now, it will be worth the effort once you receive the diploma and are a fully accepted lawyer. _

_If you want to embrace that chance and feel ready to accept that challenge, then you, Mr. Winchester, are welcome to join us at the University of Stanford. _

_We would like to meet you in person very soon to get to know you a little better and see for ourselves if the wonderful impression Mr. Parker created of you is for real, even if we are certain that it must be the case because a High School teacher would not go that far for a student of his if not for a reason._

_Now, this certainly is a twisted story. It never happened in the history of the University of Stanford that we offered such a chance to a student whom we never saw in person and did not applay either, but it never occurred the very same way that we were confronted with such a request. _

_Your teacher clearly pointed out that he is not asking us to allow you to join our facility out of personal motives, but that he only wrote this letter out of his belief in you, your talents and out of the certainty that you, Mr. Winchester, would be able to live up to such a standard, if not surpass it. Mr. Parker's efforts underline his faith in you, and we, the Board of Stanford University, are daring to take this faith as our security._

_However, even with the outlook on what others would take any chance for, we, as the Board, are asking ourselves if you are actually going to agree to that offer because "family business" is seemingly a great deal of concern to you, Mr. Winchester. If that was not the case, then you certainly would have applied to a college yourself. However, you did not do so, out of motives we do not know and that surely are not of our concern either as this is your personal business we do not want to get involved in as the Board of an educational facility. _

_We cannot force you into either action, but we want you to consider that this might be one of your greatest chances in life to make something out of yourself, to do something for yourself and do what you want to do. We hope we will be able to help you along the way. However, we wish you, for whatever path you are going to choose, good fortune along the way and we hope that it will lead you to us._

_Yours sincerely,_

_The Board of Education of the University of Stanford _

_Palo Alto, 17-06-1999_"

"What!?" Dean exclaims, totally at a loss. His brother was granted a _full-ride_ to one of the most prestigious colleges in the country, and that without _ever_ attending an interview?! They had accepted him solely because a teacher wrote a résumé telling them about Dean's little Sammy and his talents and sent it to Stanford. They offered him a full-ride, _for real_, with all money taken care of, without ever seeing Sam in person. Anyone would have _murdered_ for that, Dean knows.

And what did Sam do?

He was hunting werewolves, exorcised demons, slaughtered vampires, put spirits to peace, and did research on possible next gigs as if nothing ever happened.

Sam, the teen who used to whine about their lifestyle so much and complained that no one minded his educational career so many times, that Sam didn't dance down the streets after receiving that letter. He had not jumped in front of Dean's face to wiggle with that paper, tell him how much he had always dreamed about this. Actually, Sam had never mentioned it to him. Sam had never lost a word about _college_. Sam had said himself that he was now full into hunting business. "_School's out_" – that had been the statement everyone seemingly had agreed on… and Sam had approved with a loud and steady voice. Dean rubs a nervous hand over his face. Sam could have gone to college, live a normal life, study his ass off, spend his days and nights in libraries, he could have done all the things a geek like him always wished for, and… he didn't take that chance?!

Dean can't wrap his mind around that. Why would Sam decline such an offer? How _could_ he? After all this time, after working his ass off for good grades, after spending sleepless nights in tiny bathrooms to get the work done… he had refused to go to _STANFORD_ – Sam's personal number-one-college of them all. He had refused to fulfill his dream!? Why that? Why? _How_?

* * *

Note: Okay, I know that universities normally don't do that, but... I hope you forgive me that I wanted to bring a bit of magic into the game. I believe in miracle! ;)


	18. Chapter 18

**_Year 5_**

"I still can't believe we are doing this, Sam…," Dean sighs, his fists tightening around the steering wheel of his baby as she roars down the empty roads.

"We can still turn around and drive back, Dean," Sam suggests with a shrug. It is funny enough that Sam is the calmest of them both, considering the place they are currently heading at, considering how much that means especially to Sam. But then again... this is new Sam, and new Sam is good ignoring these kinds of things, because they are feelings, _oh God_.

"Well, _you_ wanna turn around and get the hell outta here?" Dean grimaces uncomfortably. Because then he would make a U-turn right away and they would be outside of the state before anyone would realize them in it. Since the information reached them, Dean was the one to make the calls. Sam didn't say anything, not even when Dean picked up the keys to drive down a road he always feared to travel down. Sam just silently accepted, picked his coat and got in the car with him, but it's just fair to ask for his opinion, after all, it concerns him the same, if not more, even.

"I want what you want, Dean, I already told you," Sam says drily but honestly.

"Yeah, that's _always_ been your excuse. Already as a kid, so that you didn't have to make the choice yourself you let me go first just to say that you want the same thing I ordered or whatever," Dean grumbles because sometimes he would love Sam to argue about that so that he doesn't have to do what they are about to do now. But it's true, at least when Sam was still very small. They'd sit in a diner and the kid was a little hesitant about talking to the waitress and rather hid behind the menu or Dean's arm. After all, he always made his big brother sit on the side to the exit, which Dean took anyways, and both thought it was for good because it seemingly offered the most protection for the youngest. Dean would order, Sam would say that he wants the same, and John would roll his eyes before giving his orders. That changed once Sam discovered the relieving feeling it can be to make your own choices and after that he mostly went for the healthy foods. Well, that's the way things go, people change, little brothers grow up and order their own menu. And sometimes people even come back to their old status and pick the same as the big brother once again. Life is a bitch.

"We don't have to face him, Dean. We can just go on with the next gig. I already got a lead for a haunted house in Oklahoma. I mean, we can think about a little revenge or something, if that makes you feel any better, to give him a little kick in the nuts, but we might as well give him the money he might need so that he's a free man again. Still have a hard time imagining dad to be someone's bitch," Sam grimaces. Dean simply ignores the fact that Sam already came up with another gig, the always-safe escape for the younger brother. If nothing helps, just take a new gig. He would rather get himself ripped to shreds by a werewolf than talk his feelings. And even if Dean is feeling like it most of the time, too, it's driving him insane that even now, when it's about the most elemental emotions, Sam... wants to hunt.

"Dude, gross picture in my head from now on, thanks for that! Now I'll have to wash my brain with peroxide once we get back to the motel, ugh!" Dean exclaims, as he tries, or well, has to imagine John as a prisoner's bitch.

"That I wanna see," Sam smirks, faintly, though. He is just as nervous as Dean probably is, even if the younger man is now the better one at hiding it.

"So we are going there?"Dean grimaces. At some point, his mantra goes on: "_Just say no, Sammy, then I don't have to. Just say no, Sammy..._"

"As I said, as long as you want to go there," Sam replies drily.

"You can't really say that I "want", but as for now… yeah, maybe we should just get over with it," Dean exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. This isn't getting them anywhere. Sam won't say his opinion, Dean knows, so that means, once again, it's Dean's choice. Even though it can be amazing to be the one in charge, Dean would love, after so many years now, to finally have Sam take over, for once.

"That's what I had in mind," Sam shrugs.

"So how do you want to handle… your conversation, Sam? What's the course?" Dean asks after a while, a little calmer now. He has to get this straight with Sam before they come even close to the jail, close to John, because once they are there, clear thinking is not necessarily on the plate anymore. Sure, usually, on the hunts, Dean is still impulsive and heavily relies on his instincts, but for the rest… since all that happened, Dean is more comfortable having a plan beforehand, just in case, especially when it came to Sam's and his relationship. They simply tried their best at being honest to each other and letting the other know what the plans were. It worked the best for the both actually. It left out hurtful questions at some point because both of them knew what the original plan looked like and they could simply stick to it. That was Stone One and they built their house upon it.

"What do you mean by that?" Sam frowns.

"Well, do you want me in with you while you face John, or you wanna be alone with him? _That_ kinda thing… I am fine with whatever you have in mind, but… I just wanna make sure you know you're not alone with this, Sam," Dean says, allowing a serious chick-flick to happen. However, he wants to make it clear to Sam that he doesn't have to handle the situation alone. They went through so much and that made them grow together, even more than they used to - and Dean believed that was hardly possible. So there is no way Dean will leave his kid brother if he needs him, not like certain _other_ people did before…

"I guess it would be best if you talked to him first, presumably because you can blow off all the steam if needed… I mean, I guess I don't wanna see what you do to dad if you're really getting caught up in one of your tantrums. If he's still alive after that… I actually would like you in… _admittedly_. Never thought it would happen I would, you know, _see him_, and I am kinda… I want you in there, but just sitting in the back and listen, you know? Would that be alright?" Sam asks uncomfortably. Dean grimaces a little towards the last part. Sam wanted to say something about his feelings when he started off with "_I am kinda_…" – the older brother knows that, but it hurts that Sam still can't get past that and just tell straight ahead that he is feeling fear or anxiety or… whatever that is he is feeling. Sam is only clear about one emotion, and that is his love for Dean, and he doesn't have as much trouble expressing it, and even if he did... that is something unspoken between the two. They know. Yet, all other feelings seem so far out of reach for Sam that Dean would just love to hand him a ladder to finally get to them. _Really, life is such a bitch_!

"Blowing off steam first, and then having you roast John's poor ass on tops sounds _terrific_," Dean muses with a wicked smile.

"We'll see about that," Sam sighs, leaning into the seat a little more.

"So, are you nervous, Sam?" Dean asks. He tries to hold up a conversation to ease his own nerves. That always worked the trick with Dean. Whenever he talks with Sam, he relaxes.

"Of course I am, Dean. We are about to face dad after… after hell lot of time. I mean… a lot's happened since, a whole load of crap happened after that… _day…_ We all changed and… I don't know what to expect when I come into that room… I mean, we are about to see him after all those years. I wonder what he's like now… and what he looks like… and how he'll react when seeing us… and honestly? I'm a little… afraid… on tops, dunno why," Sam admits, allowing a little emotion to show, what happens rarely these days anyways. However, Dean knows why Sam is afraid – because he's got any damn right in the world to be afraid of the man who hurt him in such a way that the damage was almost beyond repairable. So even if Sam is one hell of a tough guy and damn strong… he feels fear upon that meeting, regardless of Sam being unaware of that himself. Dean knows.

"Yeah, well, that is probably normal, after everything John's put us through," Dean nods and he has to stifle a gasp of relief to finally get such an insight of emotion, especially about this issue. After all, since Sam told the older brother about their father's whereabouts, he didn't let Dean in at all. He was just being overly obedient or comforting, but not revealing anything much about himself and how he thinks and feels about this situation. Not that Dean never came across that – that has been pretty much the rule in a fuckin' long time – but until Dean said they'd go for the prison, Sam really was even more closed up than he already was.

"Yeah, yeah…," Sam sighs.

"Oh, just great, we are about to reach John's new… home. He really made it far in his life, bound to say. Now he sleeps in a tiny cubicle with a roommate named Poppy who is about twice his height, and of course he wants the upper bed, ha," Dean jokes as they park the car in front of the prison.

"And you're accusing _me_ of making up weird pictures in _your_ mind?" Sam smirks.

"I am just making up the rest to your nasty story," Dean snickers. Silence falls over them once again.

"Ready?" Sam exhales.

"Ready," Dean nods. Then both men walk through the gates of the prison, both having an equally big knot in their guts as they get past the staff. For a hunter it is still kind of weird to walk into such a place… _deliberately_. Usually you try to stay the hell away from hospitals, social service, police, and jail, and if you have to stay… make it fast and leave no traces.

The two arranged everything so that they would have a room by themselves, with John alone, not in the rather "_public_" places with glass between them and with those ridiculous phones to talk to each other with just inches between them. It will allow them the needed privacy and they might as well mention the job some without startling the entire rest in the cubicles to the right and left.

One of the officers in charge greets them once they are past the first gate.

"Hello, Sirs. So you are the visitors for Mr. Chambers?" the man asks as they come closer.

"Yeah," both nod.

"So you are his…," the officer frowns.

"We're his sons. We want to pay him a visit," Dean says gruffly.

"Okay, could I see your IDs little quick? I need to make a face-check, to be sure you are the people who actually called in," the officer asks politely and Dean and Sam show their fake ideas briefly before stuffing them back into their wallets.

"Alright, got that now, if you could follow me little quick? We need to scan your possessions if you brought any along with you. I'd ask you to take off your jackets for a scan, too, it's part of the procedure. I ask you to give me all metal pieces you might have on you. Weapons, drugs, explosives, firearms, foods, and drinks are not allowed," the man speaks casually. If he only knew what both have in the trunk of the Impala… that alone would be enough to give them a lifetime in that _wonderful_ looking prison. Both silently snicker at that as Dean fights off his jacket and both are busily putting coins and wallets out of their pockets.

"Just like on the planes, eh?" Dean jokes. He hates planes, is always going to, and the stupid security isn't helping any because that means he can't have his beloved sawed-off with him.

"Yeah, we get that a lot, but we had cases where relatives would smuggle in matters of escape or weapons even… and in places not found during body search, you understand me? With the new technique it's getting easier, though, and the misses are about zero, glady. Before we had that… well, you can probably guess what we had to do with the gloves, eh?" the officer smirks as Dean walks through the detector. Sam joins him, and none of them is in possession of anything they would consider dangerous. That is all safely stored in the Impala. If those bastards only knew.

"Alright, here you got your wallets. You're ready to go. So if you would follow me now? Then I'll bring you to Mr. Chambers," the officer explains and leads the two men to John's room.

" Okay, I'll give you a brief introduction, Sirs. We have very strict rules about visiting times. John Chambers will have handcuffs as well as restraints to his feet to hinder him from going for a run, though he can stand up and move around, just more like a duck for the matter. This is as a mean of precaution of course. We have video surveillance in the room and I and other officers are around at all times. Once you are in, I ask you to sit down on the chairs, by the table or the one in the back you asked for. You are not allowed to have body contact with Mr. Chambers at any given time. It happens way too often that tools and weapons – if they got past the detector – are exchanged in the movement, and we don't want that to happen, I hope you understand," the officer explains.

"I ain't touching that man anyways," Dean mumbles under his breath, even if he still considers punching him as a last goodbye.

"Alright, uhm… is there a certain order you want to stick to?" the officer asks.

"Yeah, I already had conversation with one of your… _friends_, he said it's okay that we either go alone or together," Dean states, even if it sounds more of a question. After all, he wants to give Sam at least some security if he can help it. That's why he called beforehand to get the chairs set and everything, just to be on the safe side. Sometimes even another stool can become an issue, and they don't need any more issues than there already are.

"Yeah, I got told so. Okay, so will you two enter at the same time, one after one, or alone and then in a pair, or how else do you want to handle?" the officers asks. It's not really usual to have such a request, but the officer has seen many messed up families, perhaps this family is just for the same matter.

"Yeah, uhm, I will be first, and then Sam here will enter once I am done. Is it okay if I go outside to get him and then we both come back in?" Dean asks politely. Sam asked for it, so he will fulfill that request by any means.

"That is fine with us, but before you enter or leave the room, I ask you to wait for an officer to open the door – and that please in your seat. I mean, you'll have to wait anyways because _we_ got the keys, but I don't want you to freak if it takes a second. It is part of the procedure. We are the only ones to open and to close doors. Oh yeah, and if you want to leave, then you only have to press the button that is underneath the table, you can also use the button on the right corner, it's an alarm in case you get uncomfortable in any way or if you have the feeling Mr. Chambers might get a little aggressive. We are right there on the spot to help, so no worries. Okay, so here we are…," the officer explains further, standing now in front of a metal door.

"Did you understand everything or are there further questions?" the officer asks.

"No, we are good," the two nod simultaneously.

"Alright, then you go first… I'll open the door then," the officer nods. Sam turns to Dean's ear so that he can hear his whisper, "Just don't do anything you might regret later, Dean."

Dean grimaces at that at first, but then he nods, gulping once, gulping twice.

Yeah, life is such a damn bitch.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Year 1**_

"I think we should better call Uncle Bobby, Dean," Sam exhales as he drinks some of his coke. They stopped by in a diner on the outskirt of South Dakota to restore the energy resources for the rest of the ride. Dean made sure Sam drinks something with a lot of sugar so that he doesn't faint or anything because the younger sibling still hardly eats anything much. Sam was silent throughout most of the trip to Bobby's, with his mind probably some other place that is – sad to admit – far out of Dean's reach.

"Yeah, well, probably not the best idea to say, '_Hey, we are gonna live here for a while if that's okay. You got some spare space, right_?' huh?" Dean smirks as he takes another bite of his burger.

"Just my point… I mean, we can't demand from him to take us in," Sam says with a flat voice. He is still hoarse after the events, from all the sobbing, screaming… it is painful truth slipping from his tongue when the youngest speaks – it's been a _rough_ time.

"But I am pretty sure he will," Dean assures the younger teen quickly.

"Yeah, yeah…," Sam sighs, eyes dropping on his dish another time. Dean lets out a sigh himself. Sure, this is Sammy in front of him, but it's hurting to see his kid brother in such pain that he turns in on himself so much that the once happily and childishly innocent boy is disappearing behind the curtains of sorrow and anxiety.

"I'll call him once we are out of this place, okay?" Dean offers.

"Yeah, sure… thanks…," Sam whispers. And that is when Dean understands that Sam pressed the issue because he is afraid of calling Bobby himself. The boy always had a problem asking for favors of any kind, but usually a phone call wasn't that much of an issue. However, suddenly it became, with John gone, with their world turned upside-down... everything is an issue now.

"It's alright. Didn't talk to him in a while anyways. I kinda miss him calling me an _idjit_ all the time…," Dean tries to joke, but Sam can only manage a grimace to show his appreciation. After that they finish their dinner in silence, Dean pays, and both leave the restaurant. They get back into the car. Dean gets out his cell, hits speed dial and waits for Bobby to answer his phone.

"Singer," the gruff voice comes from the other end. Dean grins at that. Some things actually don't change, at least the _little_ things don't.

"Hey, Uncle Bobby, this is me, Dean," Dean starts off with a smirk.

"Hey, boy," Bobby greets with a soft smile himself.

"How're things going?" Dean asks casually.

"Can't complain, can't complain… took out a ghost last week, did some work on a truck, had chili the other day… so what's the reason for ya callin'? Johnny got another hint on them demon asses or what?" Bobby asks casually. It's a question he normally didn't have to ask anymore because it was almost always the issue. Even if Dean, so the older man knows, has nothing selfish in mind, sometimes he has the feeling his father does, though, but Bobby never had the power to deceive either one of John's boys. For practically growing up in such a world, both kids turned out to be fine men and great hunters.

"Listen… I… I gotta ask you a favor…," Dean begins, now a little uncomfortable himself. Probably it was the name "Johnny" that startled him. It made painful memories flood back into the edges of his vision.

"Somethin' wrong?" Bobby frowns with concern in his voice. Dean starting off that way is… let's say _uncommon_.

"No, I mean… kinda… uhm, sorta hard to explain via the phone…," Dean tries to explain, internally cursing at himself for sounding so incredibly stupid, again. He really thought it wouldn't be an issue for him to ask the older hunter because he had done so many times before, but this is probably just different because of the entirely messed up over-all-situation.

"What's wrong there, boy?" Bobby tries again, offering a little more warmth in his voice to perhaps calm the teenager on the other end of the line.

"Uhm… we're on the outskirt of South Dakota now… you think we could crash at your place… for… for a while? Sammy and I…," Dean grimaces.

"Uhm… sure, boy, my doors are always open for ya guys, ya know that, but what's the matter? Somethin' seems to be off about this, Champ," Bobby frowns.

"I would rather tell you in person if that's okay. I really don't wanna have that talk via the phone. So we can come to your place?" Dean asks again.

"Ya come here and then we talk, alright?" Bobby assures.

"Thanks, thanks a lot. We'll be there in about… two hours maybe? We'll see you then. And thanks again, Bobby. You're helping us a great deal," Dean thanks the older man.

"But Dean, I…," Bobby tries to intervene, but Dean cuts him off: "See you then!" And before Bobby gets the chance to push further, Dean hung up on him.

"Bobby's said we are more than welcome to crash at his place," Dean smiles as he starts the engine.

"One less problem to worry about for the time being," Sam sighs heavily, leaning back in his seat. _1999_ _still remain_, he silently thinks to himself.

"Yeah, got that right, Sammy," Dean winks and soon they are back on the road.

* * *

After another two hours of driving the "_Singer Salvage Yard_" comes into sight, Dean letting out a sigh of relief. Now they don't have to think about paying for rooms until they figured everything out. He parks the Impala between the wrecks of old trucks and other cars. The two brothers get out of the car, walk up to the trunk, and get out their duffels.

"C'mon, he's probably already waiting," Dean winks, clapping Sam on the shoulder once as they make their way up the doorsteps that lead to Bobby's house, and the older man is already standing in the door frame. Bobby Singer knows the sound of almost any car by now, but the distinct roaring of a Chevy Impala like that never left his mind. He takes a good measure at the two boys as they approach his home.

Both grew up a lot since the last time he saw them, maybe two years ago. He talked to them more often than that, via the phone, but he had only been with John on most of the occasions, while the boys were either at the motel room or on a little hunt themselves. And the Winchesters didn't show in his yard in a while, so that's why especially Sam looks like some sort of stranger to him. He got another growth spurt, now clearly topping Dean, and his features look more muscular than they did the last time he saw him. Back then Sam always looked uncomfortable in his own skin, was all about legs and arms, but now the rest of the body is catching up, slowly but surely, so that he looks simply more like a grown man, though he still has those boyish features. The shaggy hair is the same as always. However, the most prominent change in both teenagers is the color that drained from their faces, especially from Sam's. They look like ghosts. Sam bows his back and head with ever step he takes, Dean eyeing him from his peripheral vision at all times, worry edging across his face ever so often, and Sam simply looking… Bobby doesn't even have words for that. It's such a weird twist of anger, worry, anxiety, and all the other bad feelings you don't want to have until an almost indifferent, flat, dead grimace remains. It's like mixing color. You want to have a nice dark green, but after mixing all the components together, even after the hundredth time, you still get the same nasty brown every time.

"Hey, Uncle Bobby," Dean manages as he reaches the last step, smiling gladly at the older man. Sam follows up shortly behind him, cautiously taking his steps.

Bobby feels himself reminded of one of the first times John dropped the boys off in his yard to go hunting. Bobby took care of the two sometime before, but not really regularly. For the most part John seemingly had managed himself, or as Bobby learned later, Dean had. Sam couldn't remember Bobby back these days, cautiously taking his steps behind his older brother, who was about twice his height and already back then had that cocky grin plastered to his face. Sam would always walk behind him, hide behind Dean's legs and when Bobby greeted him, he stubbornly glanced at his shoes, clutching on to Dean's jeans for dear life. The older brother sympathetically clapped Sam's soft curls while he whispered to the older man that Sammy was a little suspicious towards places he didn't know and that he was still uncomfortable with their dad leaving. Bobby had silently nodded and walked the kids in. Dean, after that, couldn't stop musing about his kid brother, while Bobby handed him a can of coke as both settled down on the couch. Sam, so Dean told the older man with a glister in his eyes, was a really smart boy his age, already starting to read and everything, and that he was amazing at building high towers out of whatever he could gather, once even paper cups to build the most outrageous figures that wouldn't budge until he would tear them down himself. Dean had always been very proud of his little brother, naturally. He said Sam was a blabber-mouth, even if Bobby, back then, had a hard time believing so, looking at a boy who would still hide behind his older brother or would silently stay in their room and doing… whatever it was he was doing up there. It was only until Sam found Bobby's library and literally slept in that room, seemingly easing at the presence of the books, that he started asking million questions at once, his eyes shimmering with that childish innocence both John and Dean were so fond of. And that was when Bobby and Sam seemingly connected. Sam would ask about what this book said, or what that word meant and Bobby would calmly explain it all to the small kid, which made all very happy because Sam, after the ice broke, was always cheerful about staying at Bobby's and would yell "_Uncle Bobby_!" with a yelp of joy all the way across the yard as the Impala came to a halt, almost jumping out of the car, and only Dean being able to catch the little booger in time… But now Sam is back to the state he was in on the first real meeting, glancing at his shoestrings, hiding behind his older brother. Though he looks less frightened, but instead more defeated.

"Good to see ya, Dean. Hi, Sam," Bobby greets the younger man, trying to get into eye contact with the youngest, but he only looks up briefly to offer an apologetic and thankful smirk before looking at his shoes again.

"Hi, Uncle Bobby. Thanks for… for letting us stay here for a while," Sam manages. Bobby inwardly cringes at that. Sam's voice sounds as if he gurgled with rusty nails for about a year and the older man is fully convinced a kicked puppy would feel sorry for that young man once he looked him in the eye. The tall teenager looks like a child again and his weak voice just underlines that.

"Don't sweat it, now ya come in, alright?" Bobby offers and the two go inside. Bobby's place looks exactly the same both remember it. Dean sighs another time with relief because he feels like he made the right choice on that one, for Sammy's sake most importantly. That will probably do him good.

"Ya can put the duffels down by the stairs and take'em up with ya once ya move into your room. It's ready for ya to crash there, but now I'd like to know what's the honorin' reason for ya to come to my place," Bobby smirks as he settles down on his armchair. Dean and Sam motion to the stairs to put down the duffels and then take seats on the couch, _closely_ side by side, so Bobby notices.

"Well, that's a long… _long_ story…," Dean sighs. Sam is busy looking at the floor now, nervously fumbling with his fingers.

"Okay, so something's off…," Bobby suggests, stroking over his beard with a mindful expression.

"Yeah, told you, kinda… so anyways… in short and brief… dad took off," Dean explains. He can see Sam cringing at the truth being said another time. It still stings.

"So?" Bobby frowns. That happened before. John would often leave the kids alone to go on a hunt, that was certainly not uncommon, and it surely was not a reason for Dean to freak in such a way, or for Sam to be hypnotizing carpets, that much the older man knew.

"He took off, Bobby, like…," Dean fumbles for the words. He knows that the words "_taking off_" usually don't imply something necessarily bad – for _their_ standards – and even hints like the fact he took off without them, or that he left would leave the same kind of impression.

"He took off without us, without telling us where he is because he doesn't want to be found by either one of us. He doesn't want to see us ever again, as it seems. He ditched us," Sam suddenly speaks up. He still doesn't meet anyone's gaze, but both men are shocked at Sam's clarity in his voice.

"He… he didn't, did he? Johnny, he didn't leave ya…," Bobby grimaces disbelieving. John had pulled a lot of crap since they had first met, so Bobby knew, but that was something so far out of reach for the seasoned hunter that he didn't have the imagination to barely grasp the concept of it.

"Took off two days ago. He's after the demon, he said before," Dean explains mutely.

"So he _planned_ this?" Bobby frowns. This sounds to turn out to be a very twisted story, so he fears.

"I suppose so. I mean… truth to be told… he… he let me in on his plans about leaving, but after I heard it… I thought he wasn't going to pull it off, you know? He's done many things, but I didn't believe he would go that far. He said he needed to be alone on that trip and all that shit… few days later he was gone over night. Sam heard him leaving, he said. He left us the journal as a _goodbye-present_, how convenient, right…? So you might be able to imagine that kinda hit us square in the face… we both are running low on cash and everything coz I, personally, never thought about saving money in case. And we didn't know where to go. That's why we decided to knock on your door. You're one of the few people we can still trust, you know?" Dean explains. Bobby listened to all of it, but his face remained with the same kind of shock in its features. He never thought John would pull something that bloody. Bobby believed him when he said that his family always had priority, but by taking off by night, leaving only a friggin' journal and no clues about whereabouts or money, John Winchester surely had proven otherwise.

"Well, you know, I am practically adult now and everything, so it's not like we apply to social service or anything. Other kids set off to college by the time, or finish, but…," Dean hesitates for a moment before he carries on: "… but the thing is that I really believed that he would stay with us for some more time, _way_ longer time, like… till the day he dies and that shit… but, screw that. And that is what hit the both of us. Sure, we are pretty independent, but…"

"But ya are now thrown into the cold water without a warnin' and ya are still practically kids, Dean," Bobby assures, finally finding some confidence to fill his voice.

"Yeah, sad to admit, but it's truth told. So you think it's okay we stay here for a little while to… to, you know, figure things out, get things back into line and so on?" Dean asks uncertainly. And sometimes he really wished he already was a _full-grown-up-knowing-everything-adult_ so that he could take care of Sammy properly, so that it wouldn't have been John leaving them, but them leaving John, so that Dean could have offered Sam all he wanted. But he can't do that. He's still a teenager himself, and so is Sam, and both grew up being dependent on their father and his guidance.

"Ya consider that your home until ya are ready to leave and live on your own, and ya might just as well stay here all the while, Dean. If your daddy is such a bloody fuckin' son of a bitch with no guts to leave his kids from one da to the other , then someone's gonna take care of ya, and that would be _me_. I half-way raised ya two, as many times as your daddy parked ya in my place… no way I'm goin' to let ya walk out that door without bein' sure ya'll be alright," Bobby answers confidently.

"Thank you," the two teenagers mumble at the same time. Dean smirks fully relieved, Sam still didn't manage to look away from the carpet, his knee now bobbing up and down even more frantically than his fingers did before.

"Ya are more than welcome, as a matter of speakin'. Now I'd suggest ya two get settled in your rooms while I'll get some food ready," Bobby offers. Dean smiles gently at that, nods, and then pats Sam on the shoulder. This startles Sam to snap out of his carpet-hypnotizing some. He gets up, looking more like a robot than a teenager, and walks up the stairs, his duffel shouldered. Dean is shortly behind him. The older teen turns over the shoulder to meet Bobby's gaze and shrugs with an uncertain grimace. Bobby nods to that. Sam and Dean have been through a lot, that can get you into hypnotizing carpets at times. Bobby turns around and starts for the kitchen.

"See, Sammy, everything's working out for now, doesn't it?" Dean tries to cheer up his brother as he flops on the bed right next to the one of his younger sibling. Sam settles down the duffel on the bed, heavily leaning into the movement.

"Yeah," he whispers faintly.

"You okay?" Dean asks with an edge of worry. Sam turned in on himself more and more throughout the trip, and what he displayed back downstairs is surely what would concern an older brother.

"Have been better," Sam shrugs, managing a slight hint of sarcasm, _at least a start_.

"Yeah, I know, but one less problem to deal with, Sammy. We are safe for a while now. We got a roof and everything… now we have the time to figure this mess out," Dean assures.

"Dean?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, what is it, Sammy?" Dean questions.

"Are there other things dad said before he left?" Sam asks coolly, and it feels like a hard punch right in the stomach. Dean sits down on his bed, promptly, seemingly afraid that he would pass out.

"Like what?" Dean manages through pursed lips.

"I didn't push on the issue before coz I was a little too caught up in other crap… and I still am, but the question… it's on my mind and it's spinning so fast and so hard that it makes me dizzy in the head. Dad talked to you before, told you he was going to leave. I got that. But he let you in on it, so you certainly demanded more answers," Sam then speaks, back facing Dean.

"Well, he… you know…," Dean mumbles. Sam's mimic suddenly changes. That probably wasn't fair of him. He shouldn't have asked that question just yet and he dearly regrets it by now, it's just such a rummaging question that it makes him sick not to know.

"I mean, you… you don't have to tell me anything coz… coz this hurt you like a bitch just as well… and it is your right to… to keep it to yourself… I mean, he's told _you_, not _me_, must have some reason… but… if or once you feel up to it… I would like you to answer that question… okay?" Sam then speaks in a whisper, softly. Dean would love to hug him now. The younger man sensed right away that this territory is still too freshly scarred, even for Dean's standards. He still has to swallow those images himself before he can deliver it to Sam, the way he deserves to know.

"I would rather talk about that some time later, if that's alright, Sammy. I _will_ tell you, I promise, but…," Dean assures the younger man.

"… but you still have to figure yourself out, I understand that, believe me. I didn't mean to push you, honest," Sam admits. He doesn't want to hurt Dean. The younger brother is well aware of the fact that Dean is hurting at this just as well as he does.

"I know, Sam, you explained that it's rummaging in your head, and if I were in your place, I'd ask, too, but I am grateful that you give me some time to get this straight," Dean nods with appreciating eyes.

"Okay," Sam nods.

"I'll get myself something to drink now. You want something, too?" Dean offers as he stands up.

"No, thanks, I am good. I`ll just… unpack…," Sam shakes his head. Dean nods to that and leaves the room. He walks down the stairs to find Bobby in the kitchen, working on some vegetables.

"Hey there, boy," Bobby greets with a smirk, "Drinks're in the fridge. I didn't find the time to restore all my depots for the two of ya, but I`ll go shoppin' in the mornin'," Bobby grins. He knows exactly what the two like best.

"I'm good with almost anything, thanks," Dean smirks and gets himself a can of root beer as he settles down on one of the wooden chairs.

"So what's it with your other half? Never seen'im in a shape that bad. He's been tryin' to hypnotize my carpet for all the time we talked and normally he'd be a blabber-mouth," Bobby sighs.

"Well, it hit him pretty hard, with him leaving and everything. Sammy didn't take it well, I mean… me neither, but… Sam's… he's been that way since we talked about this whole shit. After he woke up the next morning after some people were claimed to be a _total-pain-in-the-ass_, Sammy, you know… started hypnotizing objects all the time," Dean shrugs.

"It's just that he ain't the same boy I had in my house two years ago," Bobby sighs.

"He hasn't been in a long time," Dean exhales as he gulps some of his drink.

"Whatcha mean with that?" Bobby grimaces.

"Well, you know… Sam's had some drastic personality changes for a year now, since he's out of school," Dean explains drily.

"Oh yeah, I totally forgot that he graduated last year… pretty early, still, yeah?" Bobby says mindfully.

"Yeah, he was the youngest of his class, I mean, he skipped an entire year, even with the moving around and everything. Sam's smart, that's why, has always been. Oh yeah, he even made it the best of his class," Dean grins proudly.

"Yeah, well, your kid brother surely got his brain cells workin'," Bobby nods.

"Exactly. Well, and shortly after that… he… you know, wasn't the Sammy from before. He was all about hunting and training and he stopped reading books and… he stopped to argue with that asshole, _incredibly_, really… even if _retrospectively_ he probably deserved any bad word Sam's ever told him, but you know, hindsight is easier than foresight, even if Sam actually seemed to know all that before the situation even… he's smart after all…," he exhales.

"But coming back to his changes, they were _drastic_. He trained by himself ever so often and never complained about how many times said asshole made us run or anything, and even _I_ was short before giving up… he had that folder-thing going on then… you know, Sam would spend his nights researching, all nice and clean of course, with sticky notes and everything, and then he would hand us a new folder with a possible gig when he got it finished. It was creepy coz Sam suddenly was all "_Eat – Train – Hunt_," you know? Asshole's been all pleased about that, and I would love to kick him right in the nuts for that, and for many other reasons, of course, I mean, John Winchester couldn't have been happier about having another soldier falling into line. Ugh. I told him, several times, but he just ignored it, you know? And now that he's gone… I finally have the feeling that Sam is getting back to being Sammy a bit, but… I see he's suffering, new Sam as well as old Sammy… and… to have him like _this_… I seriously don't know what's worse," Dean sighs heavily towards the end. Either way Sam is paining, and that tears Dean apart.

"Ya Winchesters really have the amazin' talent to get ya'll into the shit, I can only repeat that. Ya are the only family I know that doesn't just head for a bad situation, but always comes down with a major, world-crushin' crisis," Bobby grimaces.

"Yeah, well, we are special, I guess," Dean jokes.

"So whatcha wanna do 'bout your younger brother, Dean?" Bobby asks.

"I'm not entirely sure yet. I mean… I am just afraid of doing the _wrong_ step, you know? Okay, I'm afraid of fuckin' anything now... I can't stand the idea of Sam turning in on himself even _more_ after all that's happened. He's the one family I got left, Bobby. I can't afford to lose him, too. I don't wanna mess up anything before having some sort of plan in the back of the head, you understand that?" Dean explains.

"Yeah, yeah, I do, boy. And that's probably for the best, really. I'll try to help wherever I can, but ya are probably the one to move the greatest deal for Sam. Ya just take your time, ya two, figure ya'll out, get your emotions fixed, as far as that's possible, and then we think 'bout how we get ya back on the road in all the other ways. Now ya just take your time to heal," Bobby assures. Dean just nods with appreciation in his eyes.

"I'll go check on him," Dean says as he gets up and walks up the stairs. He peers through the door to find Sam sitting on his bed, duffel next to him.

"I thought you wanted to unpack," Dean grimaces because in fact not one piece left the duffel of the youngest, not one piece was moved to either of the wardrobes.

"I wanted to," Sam states flatly, eyeing the opposing wall.

"What hindered you then?" Dean frowns.

"I just… I couldn't… I couldn't touch it," Sam says, sobbing now. And that is when it dawns on Dean, the journal. It was on tops of Sam's stuff. Sure, he was the one to pack it in, but that was out of a hurry and because it had to be… However, just now, perhaps it was a painful reminder of the fact that their dad indeed left, left them with nothing but a stupid journal about freakin' creatures.

"Okay, not a big deal, Sammy. That's alright. I'll take care of that, okay? We'll just put it… here!" Dean assures, getting the book, and stores it in the drawers of the nightstand, the one with lock and key. Dean turns the key and puts it on tops of the nightstand.

"Now you can get it out if you want, but it's gonna stay right there as long as you want it to just as well," Dean smirks in an attempt to offer comfort.

"I feel so stupid sometimes…," Sam sighs, shoulders slumped. He still tells himself that he could do it before, but now he had that irrational fear of touching it that he spent all those minutes staring at the object as if it could suck out his life-force.

"Sam, you're not stupid for… for _that_. You link this journal with crappy memories, to say the least. Other people have the same thing going on with similar situations, you know, like… a husband doesn't want to touch the dresses of the dead wife and everything, stuff like that. It's natural. You're not stupid to feel hurt, okay?" Dean soothes.

"'Kay," Sam manages weakly.

"Good," Dean nods. Sam gets up on shaky legs another time and starts to unpack his things.

"It's been a long time since we've done that, right?" Sam suddenly asks as he stashes his shirts in the wardrobe.

"What?" Dean frowns.

"Unpacking," Sam shrugs.

"Huh?" Dean frowns even more.

"Well, before, we only lived out of the duffels… for a _long_ time. That's the first time in about two years that I pack out my whole duffel," Sam faintly smirks. Dean nods at that. Truth told, they never stayed at one place long enough that it would have paid off to unwrap everything. What is the sense in doing so if you are to leave in a hurry just one day later? Last time they unpacked everything actually was due to their last stay at Bobby's, two years ago.

"Yeah, well, that's something good, huh?" Dean smirks.

"Yeah, kinda…," Sam chuckles mutely as he retrieves the last pieces of belongings to stash them into the wardrobe.

"I'm _so_ for a fresh start," Dean grins, trying to keep up with his optimism.

"A clean cut sounds to me about just fine… _terrific_, actually," Sam nods. Yeah, a clean cut would be really neat now because it would make his stomach turn and churn less in an attempt to alarm his body about the obvious truth of the betrayal the two just suffered. Funny enough that his body always tells him what he already knows: hurts, because of an injury, is tired because he didn't sleep in days, is strong because he trained his ass off, is weak because he didn't eat anything… those are all things Sam knows and still his body seemingly feels the incredible urge to tell him about it another time. And Sam, for once, would simply love everyone to just shut the hell up because there are so many voices crying out now anyways that he can't have any more.


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note: Thanks for reading my story, and the wonderful reviews! You are so motivating and kind!  
I see that maybe the asynchronic time frame might be a bit confusing , as one reviewer pointed out, so, to get this straight (or so I hope), a little scaffold for the most important time lines:

**Year 5**: Starts off short before John is revealed to be in prison, and from that point on forward. It's supposed to show how the brothers changed after their father took off, how they arranged themselves, and how far Sam actually moved in his transformation.

**Year 6**: Obviously, a year after Sam and Dean meet John in the prison. Dean finds out about Sam's box and how he let go of the chance to go to college. It's supposed to wrap things up, and without doing a spoiler for my own story now... I wanted to show that Sam is actually making an effort to find back to himself, to being Sammy and all... but how that will pan out? You will have to stick to the story to find out ;)

**Year 1**: Sam is fully into the transformation, graduation and school long since forgotten, but is thrown off track when John takes off, just as is Dean. Their world is literally crushed. They have to arrange themselves, how? Again, you'll have to read to find out ;) 

So, I hope that I could relieve some of the confusion and now... I just hope you'll enjoy this chapter. Review if you feel like it, or don't, just have fun ;)

* * *

_**Week 2 before Graduation**_

"Dad, we need to talk," Dean states firmly. He sits at the table, motioning the oldest Winchester to join him and Sam there.

"Wow, table-of-negotiation, you've watched Oprah lately?" John grumbles as he gets up.

"Very funny, very funny… so listen, about Sam's ceremony…," Dean starts, but John interrupts forcefully: "I already told you that your younger brother is not going to have that stupid ceremony. We'll take the hunt once he had his last day!"

"You don't have to talk about me as if I wasn't there. I am sitting right here, dad," Sam shoots back in an angry voice. He hates being left out of conversations, always did, since he was young, but now he is almost a grown-up and John is still doing the same thing with him.

"You keep it quiet, young man," John retorts.

"What? This is involving me, this is _about me_, actually. So I have a say in this, like it or not, dad," Sam answers confidently. Dean hides his grin. It took a bit of prepping to get Sam to finally believe that again, but... things seem to pan out.

"Exactly dad, and we two actually don't want to argue about this. We wanna _discuss_ this with you, like adults would. Sam and I talked and tried to come up with a compromise," Dean explains in a calm voice. He doesn't want the situation to escalate again. Sammy crying _once_ a day is bad enough. A second time for the same reason? Dean will do anything to prevent that from happening.

"You really watch too much Oprah, the both of you," John grumbles.

"The joke isn't getting any better on second try… but anyways, we understand that you want to hunt the Wendigo, and we are fine with that. Sam even agreed we go there before graduation so that it's taken care of, on a weekend, preferably, though, so that he doesn't miss out on classes. That might fall back on him and his grades," Dean offers. Sam nods his agreement.

"Oh, how convenient, so you basically tell me, your _father_, what I am supposed to do and when to do it, too? Well, that is just terrific, you two, but we have to go there by that time," John argues.

"And that is because…," Dean sighs.

"Because Caleb will meet up with us, but he can't be there before Sam's last day. I want him on that hunt because he has done research on that thing the entire time and he knows the territory. Moreover, this case doesn't involve a Wendigo alone, but a Wendigo eating some people's faces on ancient tribal grounds, what startled some ghosts into action, too. So I need more than three men on it. With two teams, we can have one on the Wendigo and the other on the spirits," John explains gruffly.

"Well, you could have broken those news to us before, you know, about actually having a _reason_ to go there later because Caleb would be there," Dean mutters.

"I don't have to explain myself in front of either one of you, Dean," John threatens.

"But still, if we can wait for all this time until Caleb's ready, why can't we wait just one more day for Sam's ceremony? I don't get that, at all," Dean argues.

"Because we are waiting way too long anyways, but that's the only way it works. Bobby and Jim are not available, or any other hunter we know. I can't take out the Wendigo alone, at least I would rather have backup and I won't let either of you two handle alone either," John snorts.

"Well, but what about we call Caleb and let him tell his opinion? You say he just gets off of a hunt himself. A day of rest surely would be something he would welcome," Dean shoots back.

"It's not the matter, Dean, I say we leave, we leave, got that?" John snorts.

"Well, we wouldn't be heading out first night anyways. Caleb would first explain territory to us, we'd put up a plan, and I don't think Caleb got all the rituals done for the tribe, now did he?" Dean questions.

"No, he's mostly focused on the Wendigo, so we'll have to research for the rituals once we are there," John grumbles.

"So, basically, we would not directly go to roast the asses by any means, yes?" Dean questions.

"Yes, but still. The research needs to be done, and so does the hunt. And it's best to have all four of us on it," John retorts.

"I will do it," Sam suddenly says.

"Do what?" John frowns, and so does Dean.

"I will research the rituals, _everything_. You let me call Caleb quickly to see what he's got yet, and then I'll finish up the research about the tribal grounds and possible rituals. It will be ready before we are heading out for the hunt. I'll do it over the last days I still have at school. For that, I get my day off, meaning I attend graduation. You can drive down to see Caleb even before that, if it's really itching, you know, you could already discuss about routes to approach the Wendigo or something. I don't know. Of course you're welcome to stay just as well, but I am certain that you don't want to be on a _sucking_ event like that… Dean and I would then catch up with you two right after graduation. Once ceremony's over, we could directly hit the road. It would only be a few hours we would be behind you. And then we have the ritual and everything ready and could directly jump into action if it really is such a matter of heart to you. All would get what they want, right? So how does that sound like for you, dad? Or rather… what do you have to complain about this plan? Either way, you profit from it," Sam says, his voice steady and certain.

"What's it with the cocky attitude, boy?" John grimaces.

"I'm not cocky. I am just delivering an argument, dad, and like it or not, it's better than yours," Sam retorts drily.

"Fine, you get your way, you little punks, but the moment ceremony's done with, you _run_ back to the car and catch up with me. And Sam? You'll stay truthful to your word. I want _thorough_ research on the tribal grounds so that we can start first thing you get there. If I catch you being lazy or spending your time otherwise but with the hunt, we'll drive off, I swear to God! That is the deal," John finally gives in, even if you know he doesn't like it, _at all_. He'd rather fight a ghoul with his bare hands than admit defeat. Yet, even though John might be hard to convince, he usually is fair enough to eventually give in to what is really the best, and Sam's argument was, not that he is ever going to tell him that.

"I'm absolutely fine with that. Thank you," Sam nods.

"Oh, don't thank me for that. Believe me, you'll have to work your ass off, in preparation about the hunt and in training," John smirks viciously. Sam ignores that, though. He finally got his way. He will have his graduation. He is going to wear the tassel, the gown, the cap. He will see the decorated gym. He is going to deliver his speech, the one Sam has worked for so hard. It will be a tough fight, getting the training, the research, and finals done right, but he will work it. He has to. Because for Sam that step, this ceremony, is one of the most important steps to adulthood.

He has to do this, no matter the costs.


	21. Chapter 21

Quick Author's Note: Again, thanks for reading and reviewing. You can't imagine how much I appreciate it. Plus, a mild warning, there might be some "colorful" cursing towards the end... if you think you can't deal with that... just scroll down ;) Hope you'll still enjoy!

* * *

_**Year 1**_

Dean loves to watch his brother sleep. He always did, since early childhood. He found it incredibly soothing and relaxing, but now that is different because now Sam is pretty much passed out on the bed next to him, curled in on himself after he slept about three hours in the last two days and because Sam still looks hurt when the soft sniffles subside into something close to snores.

And it is so unfair that Sam, even in his sleep, is not allowed any kind of peace because he is still flipping from side to side, his mimic in a painful grimace. Can't the world shut up for about a few days so that they get the time to recollect? Get some sleep? Talk? No, _of course not_. A Winchester never is allowed such a luxury. A Winchester always gets hit by fortune square in the face, _screw it_.

Dean flips to the next page of the old Motor's Magazine Bobby has stored in their room. The older brother can still recall how he had played with Sam using those magazines. He would flip to a random page, point at one of the cars and Sam had to name it, plus the model, and the most important features.

"A '66 Mustang convertible, Twilight Blue Metallic, 289 cubic inch V-8, Dean? That is so cliché," a sudden voice startled the older man. Sam is sitting upright on his bed, rubbing his eyes and face tiredly, yawning completing the picture.

"How you even know I looked at that car? You can't see from where you're sitting at," Dean smirks.

"Coz this is the September edition of Motor's Magazine back from when that Mustang was the newest of all cars. And even if I can't see the page I can still see the number of the page towards me, 84, where they display a nice Mustang on 85, close-up, one hell of a blue beauty," Sam shrugs.

"Dude, you really have to stop that. It's spooky," Dean grins, even if he hoped he could simply go on flipping to random pages and ask Sam to tell him what is on there without even looking.

"Spooky is to read the same damned magazine from god-knows-when for the hundredth time, dude, and aren't you insulting your baby by looking at other cars?" Sam grins.

"Nah, we have a smooth relationship coz she knows no car is better than her. It doesn't hurt to sneak a peek at the rest of the buffet, though," Dean winks.

"And you're calling _me_ spooky," Sam sighs, rubbing his eyes again.

"You slept at least some?" Dean asks, grimacing.

"Yeah… I… I did," Sam nods with a somewhat puzzled expression.

"Good," Dean smirks.

"You?" Sam frowns.

"Nope, I still go for the night to go to sleep. I can't do it by day unless I am severely drunk or severely messed up by some spirit or so," Dean smirks, and in fact he isn't feeling tired, odd enough.

"Funny, and I feel like I could sleep for one eternity and then just roll to the other side to repeat the same process," Sam grins tiredly.

"Well, you can just go back to sleep, Sammy. You can sleep all you want now," Dean assures the younger man.

"Yeah, but I can't sleep for so long… I… oh yeah…," Sam mumbles halfway before he gets up instantly, staggering for a second before he spots what he is looking for. He retrieves his jogging trousers and sneakers from the wardrobe and starts to change more than quickly. Dean just shakes his head as if he just saw a ghost.

"What are you doing?" Dean grimaces.

"Going for a run," Sam speaks, voice flat, eyes unable to meet Dean's.

"Sam, you… you don't have to do that anymore, you realize that now? Our father's not… you don't have to train your ass off for the hunts now, Sammy. We are here to recollect. And we won't hunt in a while," Dean tries to assure his kid brother.

"I know dad's not there to push on tus, and even if we won't hunt right now, we will eventually and… I don't wanna get out of shape," Sam replies. Dean squints a few times. It's just as if he heard John Winchester for about a second, but when he looks at the tall frame in front of him, he finds confirmation for the fact it is indeed his brother, Sam.

"Sam, you don't get out of shape in a day… c'mon, you can grab couple more hours of sleep and eat something. And then you can still go for a run if you want to, huh?" Dean bargains.

"I'm good. And I want to run now… it… I just want my mind to be blank for at least half an hour or so," Sam says uncomfortably.

"What do you mean by _blank_?" Dean frowns.

"When I run, I don't have to think. I just… run. And now I don't wanna think about anything. Because… well, you probably know why… I just wanna… forget about all this for at least some time, okay?" Sam speaks softly, almost in a whisper. And that is truth. When he runs there is nothing but the hot air, his own breathing, his own steady heartbeat, the empty road, the sound of his sneakers as they speed over the pavement. There are no voices that call him names, there is no John leaving him, no Dean running ahead of him, there is just Sam and the road and when that happens, he doesn't have to think about anything. And Sam is really done bothering his head over the whole damn world because, for some reason, he can't switch it off – unless he is running.

"Just don't overdo it, alright? You are not at your fullest, remember. So take it easy, for _my_ sake, okay?" Dean agrees uncomfortably. However, he knows that Sam is being honest when he says he needs the time and he would be selfish not to give Sam the space he needs.

"Yeah, promise," Sam nods before he turns to the door and disappears from view. Dean waits for a couple of more seconds to hear the front door opening and closing and another few seconds until Sam's sneakers trod over the gravel outside. That is when Dean gets up and goes back downstairs, just to meet Bobby's quizzical eyes.

"What was that? Ya brought a strayin' cat along with ya?!" Bobby frowns.

"Sam's… going for a run," Dean says, still looking at the door himself.

"He's gone for a run… _why_?" Bobby asks.

"He says it takes his mind off of the shit surrounding us, even if I have the strong feeling he does so because he… feels like he _has_ to, coz of the training and all, and that sucks," Dean admits, as he comes downstairs, joining Bobby in the living room. Normally, he wouldn't say that out loud. Winchesters don't talk feelings if they can help it, but then again... are they still Winchesters? And Dean figures that until he came up with a conclusion to that question, he might handle best by simply being honest now.

"So ya mean that he's still afraid John might catch'im not doin' his tasks?" Bobby questions. After all, Sam actually had a phase in life where he would do that a lot. John had dropped the kids off at Bobby's because of a gig, as always, and he had told his sons to carry on training and that Sam should improve his stamina, after all, the father thought he sucked, at least that's what his tone gave away. Well, Sam, the kid he had been back then, had taken this order so seriously that he didn't do simple easy-training with Dean – as the older brother always found a good way of helping Sam improve without pushing him too much, plus a bit of fun on tops – Sam couldn't stop himself and carried on without anyone realizing it. Whereas it would be helpful to note that it was _pouring_ rain this time of the year and Sam… went outside to get out of Dean's careful eyes, by night, too… and that for three days straight… Dean found his brother collapsed in the rain only soon enough to prevent the little booger from drowning in a puddle of rain water. The kid had to deal with pneumonia and high fever that didn't break until another two weeks of total bed rest. So yeah, Sam actually had a tendency to follow John's orders – even if he always detested them – for some reason and literally made himself sick while doing so.

"Yeah, sorta. I mean, the running he always did… kinda deliberately since… you know, his make-over, but I always had suspicion it is coz he felt the pressure from… da… from our father," Dean nods. He can't get the word out anymore, though. The name "_dad_" won't get past his lips because it would speak of a love that was so deeply hurt that there is no way to repair the damage.

"Well, if it helps him… it can't harm, can it, unless he overdoes it, but if he ain't comin' back in an hour or so, we can just drive down the road and we'll find'im eventually, right? So no worries, Dean," Bobby assures the young man beside him.

"Yeah, yeah…," Dean sighs.

"So how are _ya_ takin' it?" Bobby asks cautiously.

"I'm not taking anything yet. I am still… trying to shove the information into the deep corners of my head coz I still can't believe it. I mean… I _never_ thought our father would pull that. I still think he is going to show up any minute to take us to the next town, but… but when I look at Sammy… then I know he won't show. Sam knows the truth and he is already further on that one than I am, but... we're in real deep shit. Our lives were prepared for a life with him, the bloody bastard! And then he leaves us, _for-friggin-ever_. Sam and I were so used to the fact that he was plainly around, at times, available to a certain degree, but now… he's just vanished. Man, now I know how that cute little girl back in High School must have felt like after I simply didn't show up ever again without ever telling her… sure, kinda different, still, but… that moment when you realize the person isn't going to come back, I guess it comes pretty close to that, and it sucks ass," Dean sighs heavily.

"I don't know what to tell ya, though. I wish I knew what'd be the right thing to do now, but… honestly…? I dunno. I never thought John could possibly... just no. Well, seems like ya two kinda bedazzled me not to see the real father of yours. Ya turned out so fine, the both of you, I thought John was doin' some sorta good job, accordin' to circumstances. But now I think that's a lot thanks to ya selves, eh? Like, ya being there for Sam and Sam being there for ya?" Bobby says mindfully.

"Yeah, that's what I figure, too. I mean… I always knew that Sam, even with all the bitching and the whining and the puppy eyes was one of the best things that's ever happened to me – and I swear, if you tell him, then I am going to kill you, Bobby. He'll never let go of that in a lifetime… but it's the truth," Dean admits.

"I'm sure he feels the same about ya," Bobby offers a soft smile.

"Yeah. I mean, thing is... he's always been there for me, literally ever since he was born, and even now… he could be mad at me, you know, and I couldn't even blame him," Dean carries on. Bobby frowns at him.

"I was in on our father's plan before it happened, and Sammy doesn't bear me a grudge when I told him, not _once_. And I know that this is for real, that he isn't just acting as if he isn't mad at me, he honestly isn't. I know. Even when it turned out our father's gone… and I told him that I knew he had that plan set in mind for a while… he didn't say '_Get the hell out of here_!' – or _'I don't want to see your ugly face ever again_!' – or '_Don't touch me! I hate you, stupid bastard_!' He told me that it was _alright_, simple as that, without hesitation. That's when I realized he's really there for me and that's why I want to be there for him now. I feel like… like I kinda owe him that, you understand? And I guess I am off best with being there for him because it makes me better myself, you know?" Dean says.

"Always told ya, and again, ya two are like conjoined twins. The one can't feel happy without the other around and one feels bad when the other isn't well, which certainly can be a pain in the ass coz ya likes and dislikes vary a lot, what makes it kinda difficult to please ya both at the same time, but well… fraternal love always was very strong with ya two, so ya are probably right. Once Sam's better, ya are gonna be better, too," Bobby nods.

"Simple equation, right?" Dean smirks.

"Simple as pie, yup," Bobby nods with a grin.

"Yeah, the execution is kinda harder, though," Dean sighs.

"Well, for the beginnin', if ya don't mind an advice from an old man?" Bobby smirks.

"Shoot! I am willing to take any advice coz I am clueless!" Dean exclaims.

"Well, Ace, for starters, tell him exactly whatcha told me just now, whatcha said I shouldn't tell him, about that he's the best thing's ever happened to ya and all. Sam's always shown a great deal of understandin' of other people. But if ya shut your feelings out, then he's gonna do the same. If ya want him to open up to ya, then ya gotta give'im a chance to understand ya," Bobby says.

"You think?" Dean frowns uncertainly.

"Yeah, I'm pretty damn sure. Sam's good at sensin' what the folks surroundin' him feel and he directly shows empathy for'em and feels the pain as his own. Little booger, 's never been doin' him much good, but seems like he can't switch it off," Bobby smirks.

"Yeah, now that you mention it… Sam's always been that way. I mean, when I broke my arm on one of the hunts, he always touched his arm, he didn't even realize it, like… phantom pains? I don't know. I never really paid attention to it, though. I simply knew Sammy is always feeling with people, but now that you say it… yeah, might be true," Dean smiles softly at the thought.

"And that's why ya have to think about yourself, too, that ya get back on the horse coz if ya don't, then he ain't gonna make recovery either," Bobby says.

"Sounds rather complicated," Dean grimaces. He always knew they were a family of freaks and that with the Winchesters _everything_ is complicated, but this sounds really messed up. They just can't seem to have "normal" family issues. As Bobby said, they always go for chaos.

"I think ya can work this, Dean. If no one can but ya," Bobby grins.

"Might be… And after all, I _gotta_! Coz Sam has to get better," Dean nods. That is the thing – Sam has to be better, everything is revolving around that one thing just now. He has to. Has to.

"That's the spirit, Ace. Okay, enough of emotional talk for now...Why dontcha just watch some TV or whatever ya think is takin' your mind off of the shit?" Bobby offers.

"Yeah, TV sounds about just right," Dean smiles.

"Good, I'll be in the library for research some," Bobby exhales, getting up.

"Okay, gotcha," Dean approves.

With that the seasoned hunter leaves the teenager to himself. After all, the older brother lost his father the very same way the youngest had. They are both parentless now, okay, Bobby still considers himself half their father at least, but not the _real-in-blood-parents_ a child should have around. Their mother was taken from them when still way too damn young and now their father left, on his own behalf. And Bobby still thinks of ways of how to take that bastard out in the cruelest ways for making his kids suffering like that, and _yes_, note those are _his_ kids.

Dean switches on the TV and searches for something that doesn't make him think of his father or the hunts, so no news, no documentaries on monsters, or douche-bags running around in empty houses by night almost peeing their pants when the _medium_ claims to have seen something… _odd_… eventually he decides to go with the evergreen: _cartoons_. Of course his mind is constantly focusing on Sam. The running makes the older teen scared. He fears Sam may not come back, for whatever reason that is. His father left him, so why not his brother, too? Right… Sam _wouldn't_, because Sam is Sam and because Sammy is the most precious and most caring person Dean knows. Sam wouldn't turn his back on him, not after that. Admittedly, Sam ran away as a kid, couple of times, but he ran away from _John_ for the most part, from the evil surrounding them, but never from _Dean_ really. It was just the thing that came naturally along with it, at least that is what Dean figures retrospectively. After all, Sam told him one time, after he had run away, that Dean was the reason he had come back for. And that is what Dean had made his pillar from that point on. Sam might have left couple more times, but he never _ran_ from Dean, but _returned_ to him, again and again. And the same mantra will have to work for now.

* * *

After thirty minutes and forty-six seconds – yes, Dean _did_ count – there are footsteps audible in the yard. The older brother directly jumps to his feet and goes over to the window. And it is Sam indeed who comes back, _gladly_. The older teen lets a sigh of relief. However, instead of coming inside, Sam makes a turn to the side with the car wrecks no longer fixable. Dean frowns, but his curiosity gets the better of him and he heads outside himself, secretly. Sam is standing in between the wrecks of cars. He took the ones furthest away from the house, so out of eavesdrop for sure. That means it will get loud here, Dean assumes. Suddenly Sam jumps on tops of one of the wrecks, a metal pipe in his hand and starts to hammer on the roof of the former pickup.

"You bloody, damned, fucked-up, retarded, asshole-butt-head-mother-fucker! You cock-sucking-son-of-a-bitch!" Sam yells.

Dean has to stifle a grin at Sam's colorful vocabulary he only saves for occasions of true and pure frustration and anger. Normally he doesn't curse like that, but it makes the older brother realize once again how much of a toll it must be on the kid to actually go for such vocabulary. That means it's really badly hurting him now.

"I hate you, you son of a bitch! Yes, one son of a bitch you are! You destroyed everything, everything, _everything_!" Sam growls, bringing the pipe down another time. He actually leaves some damage on the car – with just a _pipe_, respectively. Sam jumps back down and grabs a crowbar from god-knows-where. He steps over to the side of the car and hits on the car windows, the glass glistering in the light.

"That's what you do! You break! You destroy! You destroy everything, break it apart and leave nothing but this shit to pick up and put together, screw you! Screw it all! Damn you!" Sam curses, stepping on the shards of glass to make his point.

"You treat us like shit, you make us dependent on you, you make us your own, you don't leave us a choice but follow you, you butthead," Sam smashes another window.

"You torture us with training and exorcisms and hunts that got us almost killed God knows how often! You gave me a gun when I was friggin' _nine_! You didn't read me bedtime story, you read me _exorcisms_ and cruel stories of how to slaughter this or another beast! You screwed me up, right from the start!" Sam breaks another window into tiny pieces. Dean is bound to watch and listen to this. Sam is talking to their father, blowing off steam, which is good, but what Sam says and how he says it… it is right what he screams out, every word of it, and it makes the older brother painfully realize how unfair the world has been on Sam since the very start. There is no happiness in his life other than what Dean could cover up for, and the little portions John added that now got a rather bitter taste to them. So yeah, Sam was screwed up from the beginning. Is that the moment he will start to hate his older brother for the same reason? For not protecting him from that? For going along with it all those years? For allowing it to happen again and again? Is Dean's worst fear about to become true?

"So you make us dependent, you make us your toys through the shit you did to us! You made us fall in line! A line-up for _death_, you mother-fucking bastard! You lined-up your own sons for sure death! You didn't protect us, you threw us right to the edge of the fires of hell and then didn't have the piety to push us over, but instead you let us linger in the blazing flames all this time to simply prolong the fuckin' moment of truth!" Sam grows, through the last part a hit comes every time he finishes a word. Dean is very tempted to either get out of the safe hideout and talk Sam out of it or just run away and hide himself. So now he got the proof, Sam thinks life is hell, _great_. For a big brother that is probably the worst way one can fail the most precious to him in the world, his little brother.

"And then, after all that you fuckin' _leave_! Turn around and run! Like a fuckin' little coward pissing his pants coz he's afraid of the future?! Cut that, screw it! Future is done for, we don't have one, thanks to _you_! Thanks to you we are cursed! Cursed children, your offspring you willingly made the sacrifice for… whatever that is! You asshole! You made us the price and left! You mother-fuckin' left us! You left! Left! Left! _Left_!" Sam cries out every word as if it were acid.

"And you know what?" Sam carries on.

Now comes the last blow. Dean squints his eyes shut.

"I wouldn't have cared if it was just for me! You bloody cock-sucker!" Sam growls, bring the crowbar down another time. Dean turns his head towards Sam. What did he just say? What does that mean – "_if it was just for _**_me_**!" – the hell!

"If you'd left me, _fine_! I knew you didn't like me! I knew it all along! And I didn't like you either, you idiot! Would just have fitted the scheme if you told me to fuck off! You did before, just not that permanently and that definitely! I wouldn't have bothered!" another window breaks into tiny pieces.

"But you didn't just for me! Most importantly, you fuckin' asshole, you left _Dean_! Your oldest! The one who worshipped you all this time, always looked up to you stupid idiot! He likes you, liked you! Loved you! He would've done anything for you! _Anything_, you hear me, you dumbass! And that guy you left! You left Dean! You left him off all people! You bastard! You left Dean!" Sam growls, bringing down the crowbar another time. And there goes the windshield.

"Fortune in your hand, with Dean you had anyways, and you toss it into the trash! You tossed away the one person who loved you, you stupid idiot of a man! You're so much of a cock-sucking asshole! How could you do this to him?! How could you?! Why didn't you get him?! Why did you leave him here with me than taking him with you?! He _worshipped_ you, did anything for you, was the good son, still you ditched him! You ditched him! Why did you do this to my brother?! Why couldn't you just break me and leave Dean out of it, you mother-fucker? Why did you make Dean pay, too? Huh? Why him? Why not just me? I've always been the punk! Why didn't you just punish me, why Dean, for God's sake! Why him! How dare you?! How dare you hurt him, destroy him, kill him from the inside?! How dare you?! You asshole! How dare you hurt the one person that matters to me?! Why not just me? Huh?! HUH?! Never bothered before, why now?! _Why_?! _**Why?"**_ Sam shouts. And that is when Dean can't hold it together anymore. He gets out of his safe hideout to face the younger teen, whose eyes are still wet of tears and his skin reddish from the cries and running and hitting and punching. Once Sam sees his brother approach, the crowbar drops from his numb hands and he rolls over the hood of the car, his legs suddenly only a bundle of noodles on a thin stick.

"Dean!" he yelps helplessly. Maybe now would be the time to really run for it, but his legs won't move by an inch. _Damn the running_. Dean will probably give him the mother of lectures about how pissed off he is and all and Sam will only feel guilty for smashing the cars, but before he can get the thought sorted out, he feels himself wrapped into a tight embrace. The older brother is holding on tight to the teenager.

"Dean… I…," Sam gasps, unable to process this gesture.

"It's okay, Sammy, really," Dean says.

"Nothing's okay," Sam shakes his head.

"I will be good, Sam. John didn't destroy me. You are not responsible for him leaving. That is not your fault, nothing of it is," Dean assures. If Sam would go on believing that he is the one to destroy him, Sam would destroy himself. He pulls back a little, his hand still resting around Sam's nape of the neck, keeping a close eye contact with the younger brother.

"But…," Sam wants to argue, but Dean interrupts him: "No but in this, you are not responsible and that's the end of it, you idiot! I'm here with you because I want to be here with you! I'd trade nothing in the world for that."

"But dad…," Sam whispers.

"Screw John! I may have worshipped him, but that's… over now. I'm past this. You are my one and only concern now. The focus is on you and me, us two together against the rest of the world, even against our own father," Dean assures.

"You shouldn't have to worry about me. I'm a nuisance," Sam looks away.

"You say that again, I'll smack you in the head!" Dean yells.

"Huh?" Sam gazes at him with surprise in his hazels.

"You are _not_ a nuisance! You're my little brother, Sammy! You are the one thing to make my day, you little all-arms-and-legs-idiot! Don't you think I feel the same about you the way you feel for me? I want to rip John's windpipe out for what he did to you, for how he harmed you. I feel the same as you do on that one, Sammy, so please, just… just… just believe me when I say that it is only us two, and that this is all it takes me to be good. As long as you are there… I'm good… somehow," Dean explains.

"I want you to be good," Sam replies weakly.

"Then please, stop beating yourself up about it that John's left or how that hurt me. That was not you, that was John and John alone. For that he alone is responsible, so now let us be the one and only concern for one another. I got your back, you got mine, and we'll work it from there. How does that sound?" Dean offers.

"Sounds good to me," Sam whispers, still overtaken by his brother's words.

"I'll get this fixed, Sammy, somehow. I'll put that glass back together for you, I promise," Dean swears.

"That's major chick-flick, you know?" Sam snickers.

"Well, you started," Dean shoots back, a smile creeping up his face.

"Jerk," Sam smiles back.

"Bitch," Dean laughs, feeling utterly relieved.

"Know what?" Sam suddenly asks.

"What?" Dean frowns.

"Take the crowbar," Sam says, picking up the metal piece from the ground.

"Sam…," Dean exhales.

"No, I mean that. We should focus on us, you said, well, then let's get rid of dad," Sam says, nodding at the car.

"Just beat out all the juices so that nothing's left of him?" Dean asks, even if he already got Sam's message.

"That the plan," Sam shrugs.

"I like your way of thinking, Sammy," Dean smiles.

"Here, you take this one, I'll go with that one," Sam says, getting the pipe.

"On three?" Dean says, raising the crowbar above his head.

_"One!"_ and both start to dash forward and hit the cars with all their might, just to get rid of their father, to have a future on their own, someday. From the window Bobby watches the scene. He is glad that the kids finally talked about it, as it seems, and f it takes just some damned car wrecks to relieve some of the pain, then they shall smash the whole damn yard to pieces as long as they have those smiles on their faces while being at it. Sometimes, so he figures, the true joy is born out of the worst situations so that there is nothing you can do but laugh, since, at some point, you can't drop any deeper. And those kids are definitely at the bottom, so from now on, so the seasoned hunter actually prays, there has to be an up, and he hopes for it to last as long as possible.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** Sorry that I took this long with the update. And sorry that this is a bit lengthy, but I didn't want to chop this down any further, so please bear with me. Hope you'll enjoy ;)

* * *

_**Year 5**_

The door opens and Dean walks in, taking cautious steps as he peers his head in. The door is closed behind him and soon Dean is able to spot John Winchester, in a nice blue jumpsuit, his beard fuller than Dean remembered it to be, the hair quite messy, huge dark circles around his eyes. Actually, John is looking much older than he expected. His cheekbones look sunken in, his hair is not only messy but greasy even upon second glance, and the once so broad shoulders Dean had always watched and admired now seem slouched and… _small_. However, the best is John nearly falling off the chair in surprise once he catches sight of his visitor. He didn't know that his _sons_ were coming, the least of all he expected _them_ to come to visit. John thought Bobby would come to give him hell once again, but now his oldest son is standing in front of him, in the flesh, after all those years. The seasoned hunter almost bolts upright and makes uncertain duck-like steps over to Dean, his arms awkwardly hanging in the air… for yes, a _hug_. Dean grimaces at that and makes a well-measured step backward.

"We are not allowed to touch each other, that's the rules, and I don't want to play hugging with you anyways. Let's just sit down," Dean says with his lips in a tightly thin line.

"Okay," John nods faintly as he makes his way back to his chair. Dean has to hold back a smile. He can see the clear defeat in John's eyes. Though Dean asks himself if that bastard actually believed Dean would be all over him and tell him how much he had missed his freakin' commands or the runs in the morning. The oldest son thinks to himself as he walks over to the table that is situated in the middle of the room. Dean settles down in his chair, opposite John, as a matter of speaking. Dean scans the entire room, and the four cameras in each corner. That means the officers can see them from any spot. You always have a look at your surrounding as a hunter, it is natural to you after a while. Dean searches John's face again, arching an eyebrow at the still odd-looking man. He has the handcuffed wrists on the table, clutching either palm nervously. John Winchester _nervous?_ Dean must be dreaming, he muses inside his mind.

"So how do you come here, son? I never let you know that…," John breaks out.

"It's _Dean_, and secondly, Bobby called Sam once he heard about your _grand_ situation and sent us the address," Dean interrupts quickly. That man is not supposed to call him _son_ after all that happened between them, no, that man is no longer a father to Dean, so he doesn't have the right to call him son anymore.

John visibly cringes at the harsh words that certainly came unexpected for him. Dean has to stifle a groan. That man really believed that the little adventure he started on his own would not change their relationship in any way, for the bad? God, Sam had said so many times, but now it is really dawning on Dean, John is _one dense bastard_.

"Okay… _Dean_, uhm… it is really good to see you all healthy and all. You're looking good," John speaks, licking his lips nervously.

"Wish I could say the same about you, _John_, but you're looking pretty pathetic in handcuffs and a blue jumpsuit," Dean retorts. You can see the older man cringing at the word "_John_" – Dean always, _always_ had called him dad. That stings even more than Dean not wanting to be called "_son". _

"Is Sammy here with you?" John asks hesitantly and one could even go as far as to say that he has a flicker of hope in his eyes. Dean grimaces. After all the shit John gave especially Sam, the older brother is having a hard time understanding that glimmer of hope in John's dull eyes. Last time he checked, the man thought Sam was a monster… and now he'd be delighted to see his little "_Sammy_" after all this time? Doesn't quite fit, now does it? And Dean could smack the bastard right in the head for even daring to have that glitter of hope in his eyes. He doesn't deserve that, not after all he's done to them, to Sam, _Dean's_ Sammy.

"Yeah, he is out that door, and don't you dare to call him _Sammy_ once he in, or better, ever again. You dare, you die," Dean threatens, leaning back in his chair, arms folded on his chest. John is not supposed to pull anything on Sam. Dean is afraid that might destroy him even further than his younger brother already is. And that kid, even if he is good at hiding it, is scarred for life – and that thanks to this jumpsuit-ed idiot in front of him.

"Yeah, I know. Believe me, I didn't want this," John sighs.

"Yeah, you didn't want _many_ things, but you did them nevertheless," Dean quips. He takes a deep breath to calm down – the explosion is for later – and then goes on in a softer voice, "... but let's leave that for later. For now, how about you tell me how you got your sorry ass into the shit?"

Regardless of Dean's hatred towards the older man, he still can't imagine how John got himself into prison. May it be that he is an awful dad, but he is a damn good hunter after all.

"Okay, okay… I… uhm… had a hunt down in Louisiana…," he speaks in a hushed voice. He moves in a little closer so that surveillance won't catch that. Dean, reluctantly, does the same. He doesn't want to be closer to the man, but he can't talk about hunting and all that "_in public_" – even Dean understands that.

"A d-man was taking over doctors who then killed their patients during the operation. I went undercover as a janitor. D-man caught me as being a hunter, _somehow_, though, and set a trap. Used a meat-suit as a host, again a doctor, made a call without my realization, locked me with him in a room and then inflicted wounds on the body he used so that the host died. I tried to stop it, but it was too late. I tried CPR, no chance, but now blood was on my hands and that's when police came in. Well, you can probably imagine the rest," John explains in a whisper.

"So you are charged for murder?" Dean grimaces, leaning back in his chair again.

"Yeah, but… they didn't find my fingerprints on the weapon, something _Mr. D_ didn't think about, and that the weapon was still in the dude's dead hands," John sighs.

"So you'll be in court?" Dean frowns. Usually, John would try to break out, but he actually sounds like he talked to a lawyer and thinks about using those facts in trial to prove him innocent. And Dean still has the gruff voice of John Winchester inside his head, claiming that he would rather take on three werewolves at the same time than wasting his money on a lawyer with geeky face and babbling nothing but court-terms no one could make sense of.

"Best chances for me to get out of this smoothly. I got a good share of evidence on my side. My lawyer got through that they do autopsy coz that might prove that the wounds are at such an angle that I couldn't have inflicted them, but that the doctor did himself," John nods.

"Never thought _you'd_ pay for a lawyer, John," Dean smirks.

"Well, didn't have many other options left, son," John shrugs.

"_Dean_ for you," Dean snaps.

"Yeah, sorry, got carried away, but… enough of that. Far more important would be you, after you came for visit… so how have you been doing, Dean?" John asks, in a pathetic attempt to show fatherly concern and interest in his two sons – the ones he ditched years ago. Dean growls deep in his throat, almost standing up in his fury.

"You don't seriously ask me that kinda question, do you? After all that's happened, you seriously ask _how I have been doing lately_?! I have been _terrific_, you know? _Outrageous_! After the _great_ John Winchester abandoned his two sons and left them in the middle of the night, yeah, it was one _jolly_ ride to Bobby's to seek shelter and to tell Sam about the _wonderful_ news about you leaving! Yeah he was just as _delighted_ as me! It was just as _terrific_ as to put the pieces back together after that, dealing with Sam's cocooning ever since! It was _great fun_ to put up with family business after that once we realized we were too screwed-up to do something else. Yeah, it was _great_, simply _great_, John. Does that answer your fuckin' question or can we talk seriously now? Because I am _so_ not in the mood for playing around," Dean snarls.

"Okay, okay, I understand that you are angry at me…," John tries, but Dean interrupts him again, "_Angry_ is a far, far too nice term for that. If you weren't in a jail right now, John, I would take you out piece by piece and cut the flesh from your bones while you're awake, believe me. But I promised Sam that I wouldn't do anything that I would regret later, and I fear I would eventually, because, in contrast to _you_, I still got a conscience," Dean growls with furious eyes.

"Dean, I am still your father!" John exclaims. His son never dared to talk to him like that. He understands that he is furious after all this, but still, he is the father.

"No, John, you are no longer my father. Maybe you once were, but the day you left, you died in my eyes. Sam's always said it. _You_ made the clean cut back then, not _me_," Dean sighs.

"How can you say that, Dean? I raised you two. I gave it everything I could to get you through, to make you responsible adults and good hunters who could defend themselves out in that cold world. I know I made many, _many_ mistakes, and you have all reason to be angry for that, but to tell me that I am dead in your eyes… I sacrificed _everything_ for you. I tried to keep you safe by any means. I am your father. Your mother and I were the ones to give birth to the both of you, nothing will ever change about that!" John growls.

"Sure, _biologically_ our heritage can't be denied, but as for me… you stopped being my father when you walked out that door five years ago. You say you made mistakes, but they meant nothing to either Sam or me. _That_ changed nothing about our relationship, about the bond we once shared, but… but when you left, John, _that_ was when our relationship changed. You made a clean cut and Sammy and I arranged ourselves with that. And believe me, it was a tough struggle to go through that without the man supposed to be with you throughout such a crisis because he… because he is… how would Sammy put that, oh yeah, because he is _fighting imaginary giants_!" Dean narrows his eyes at him.

"What does that mean? What I was after is what killed your mother, you know that. It's not just imagination or anything. That thing is for real, Dean. And I made an oath back then to put it to an end. I promised to your mother and to you, to Sam, to our family. This thing is for real, Dean, and it needs to be taken care of," John argues.

"Well, did you have success until then? Is it dead yet?" Dean mocks. He already knows the answer. They kept track on the demon themselves, of course, not to find John, but just to be on the safe side, so that the creeper doesn't show on their doorsteps one day. And up until now there are still those fancy electric storms, dying cattle and all the other fun stuff they know are signs for the demon making his bloody appearance on earth.

"No, I was on a lead back in the hospital, but as you can see, I got kinda caught up in a tough situation here," John grumbles. He still can't admit defeat, _the bastard_.

"And you're telling me you're _not_ chasing imaginary giants? Or isn't it the case that the _idea_ of killing that thing is the only thing that matters to you, more than the real… _act_?" Dean questions. Finally he finds the confidence to tell John all the things he had in mind ever since this whole ordeal started, since the day he left. Dean can't deny that he comes closer and closer to understand why Sam always put up fights with John before school was out. That way, through speaking his mind regardless of the damage it may cause, Dean is no longer just the person to receive an order, no, he is in charge. Now is his time to demand answers, answers to the questions that kept him up at night for all those years.

"What? No, I want our family and other families to be _safe_. And that will only be the case when the thing is dead, Dean. You know that," John argues. He has told his sons for so many years, he really thought he got that one through to them both by now.

"Yeah, yeah, that's always been the excuse, _always_. That was the excuse for us leaving town after town, that was the excuse for the friends both Sammy and I had to leave behind, for our crappy life, your methods. It's been the excuse for you leaving, for _everything_," Dean retorts.

"Dean, you're a hunter yourself. You know what's out there. You know that this thing needs to be taken care of. Someone's gotta do it, and it's seemingly us!" John disagrees.

"You know, I don't want to discuss that now, John. I've been waiting for a chance to look you in the eye, look at the man who did this to us, his family," Dean sighs.

"I didn't do anything to you, Dean. You were practically adults back then. Sam was out of school… it isn't like I left my five year old boys to the will of fate or anything," John argues, but Dean is having none of it, "John, you and I both know that neither Sam nor I were ready for that by the time. Even if we grew up to be independent on most occasions, we always lived a dependent life. We always depended on _you_, your orders, your rules, your life that you made ours. When I was at the age people regard close to _adult_, which I was back then, I wasn't adult. I wasn't ready to take care of the both of us because my life was set on the life with us three together, with a father by our side! The age really doesn't matter, John, and you should have known that. I wasn't ready for that, neither was Sam. Sam was definitely too young. After all, he graduated sooner than his fellow students, rings a bell with you? He's been even younger! We were not practically adults back then, we were practically _kids_. We were bloody teenagers, left alone, left behind by their own father," Dean growls bitterly.

"Okay, I admit, you were still too young to be by yourselves, but the circumstances wouldn't allow otherwise. Believe me. I did the best I could. And even if you were too young back then, I knew you'd be smart enough to get yourselves help. You would adjust and manage, I knew. I raised you that way, to adjust to new surroundings quickly to protect the family. And now look at you. You turned out just fine, right? You are a grown-up man, a hunter, well-trained, and probably able to take out any beast that is out there. What is _so_ wrong about that?" John argues.

"Everything! Because I had to put up with such a load of grief and regret when you left that it nearly drowned me, you son of a bitch. I had to play _you_, John, for _my_ sake, for _Sammy's_ sake. I had to play '_dad'_ – and it _sucked._ I wasn't ready and Sam and I knew I wasn't you, for which I am still kinda glad… because then I might just as well have blown my own brains out. But you know, the worst was and still is what went wrong with Sam thanks to that, thanks to _you_!" Dean grits his teeth.

"What did I do to Sam, Dean? Be so kind and explain it to me because I really fail to figure. What you were afraid of, that he might bear you a grudge for what you called _betrayal_ back then, didn't happen. Sam stayed with you. So really, what did I do to him that makes you so mad at me, huh?" John retorts with a roll of his eyes.

"Well, you cannot see that because you still would be too damned pleased to realize Sam's change because he turned out to be _all_ you wanted him to be, John," Dean narrows his eyes at the older man. "The Sam I once knew is long since gone and I have to put up with that every single day. I have to look at him every morning and realize he doesn't have that glitter in his eyes anymore, the hope, the joy, something, _anything._ I don't love him any less, in contrast to _you_, but my Sammy is dying within that new Sam with every day passing and it's only a matter of time until he's fully disappeared, and that is mostly thanks to _you_!"

"So you are talking about the same thing from back then? Seriously, Dean? Five years passed and you still argue about things that creeped you out as a kid!? Because Sam being good at hunting all of the sudden? Is it about him no longer living with the head somewhere in the clouds so that he doesn't get either his or your ass into trouble? That he was finally with his mind set on the target and was more efficient as ever? Yeah, that certainly is a _terrible_ thing, Dean," John mocks.

"You only know the half of it. God, you are supposed to love your kid the way it is, that's your _duty_, as a _father_. What did you do? You never had a good word for him. You always pulled him down, made him seem less valuable in his eyes! Played down his efforts! Mocked him! Always accused him of being… _himself_. Be it that he enjoyed school, that he liked soccer or that he wanted to do nothing but read the entire time on the ride from one gig to the next. You were always the one to bitch about it, even if that made Sam… _Sam_!" Dean says.

"_He_ was the one to bitch about everything, Dean, not me," John argues coolly.

"Because he wanted more of his life than hunting. And who could blame him? You know he is more intelligent than the both of us bull-heads together. For him it has always been not only the question about _what_ but _why_. So it stands to reason that Sam asked for more. He was raised in this world, John, he never had mom baking cookies or anything close to a home or a safe place. Since he could remember his home was the Impala, and Latin exorcisms were his bedtime stories. I got at least some memories of a life before hunting dead things. Sam never had that. He can't remember mom, her face, her warmth, the love, _anything_. God, how many times did he ask you or me how she was like, what was her favorite song, or the lullaby she used to sing to us? And we would treat him with silence because we were too damned selfish and said that we didn't wanna talk about it… That is why his focus was on the future, a future where he could at least have some safe place, a home, because in the past was really nothing close to what _we_ both had. And with you always telling him that he was a shit, Sam had to give his life some other sense, to prove you otherwise! He had to go for soccer and friends because for the rest, for the hunting and all, you gave him hell. That was Sam's only way to keep going. So who can blame him for that, really?"

A few years ago Dean didn't understand that himself because he was blinded by John's strong words that Sam was the selfish one, demanding these things. Now the older brother knows Sam asked for these things because the only way of ever having a real life, a normal life, safety, were the times he played soccer, where he went to school like any other student, where he would go to the movies, or go see friends. That was the only time where there were no monsters or demons to haunt him. There was just Sam and the ball, or Sam and his school books, nothing more, nothing less. The older hunter had to learn a lot of about Sam, things he wasn't aware of even after their dad left. Even if it was terrible, Dean, after some time, finally had the feeling he came to know his younger sibling, came closer to understanding him. Of course it was a huge price they had to pay, but Dean sees things clearer now and understands most of Sam's arguments with their dad, now that he knows the story behind them. And for that, in some sick way, he is glad even because his eyes were opened, to see Sam.

"Dean, we don't choose our path. And our family was supposed to walk _that_ path, the hunts, the demon, the monster, saving people. Sam wouldn't fall into line because he was too selfish to see the greater means of this mission. And now you are angry at me that I appreciated it when he finally did? He didn't whine anymore, simply started to become a hunter, ready for what is out there. A lunatic gets killed on the job. Only a realist is able to survive, Dean, you know that," John argues, but that only gets Dean's anger rising again, "That would _never_ have happened, that he dies. I am always there to watch Sam's back, in contrast to some other people in the room here!"

To him it's an accusation that John believes he would allow Sam getting killed. It never mattered to Dean if Sam was good at hunting or not because he knew he would keep him safe.

"Dean, I tried anything within my powers to protect your little brother," John tries again.

"You just keep on telling yourself, John," Dean snorts. "No one buys your bull anymore. A man who ditches his family is all about big talk, but it's just the poor excuses from a few years ago. You didn't do anything to keep us safe! You weren't there when I was almost dying from blood loss when a werewolf decided to cut me halfway open! You weren't there when Sammy gave out three times on the table after he had almost drowned in a stupid bog when fighting off a mermaid and his heart stopped beating, fuck! You weren't there when we both barely made it to the car after being ripped apart by some damn Wendigo! It's not thanks to you that I didn't die from being electrocuted, but thanks to Sam's restless research for a cure! You weren't there the same way to prevent Sam getting those vertical scars running down his arms when a bunch of vengeful ghouls fed from him and decided to cut his arms open to make him bleed out, which they almost managed!"

"I didn't know about that, I…," John mutters mutely, visibly shaken by Dean's statement.

"Because you weren't there! Those were the gigs we took while you were off solo, John! So how did you protect us again? I really fail to figure because we might just as well have died on either occasion – and you wouldn't even have known, now would you?" Dean shoots back.

"No, I guess not," John grimaces, visibly angry that he was proven wrong this time.

"You didn't change at all, you know that? It's just I didn't figure until Sammy opened my eyes to see the _real_ John Winchester. That is what I really have to give Sam credit for. He saw through you years before I even had suspicion. Sam was always good at reading people. I should have trusted his judgment before, but I wanted to keep the great hunter John Winchester as my role model. I needed a hero, and you just seemed to be exactly that. I didn't want to see the truth on hand, while Sam did, _all the time_. He saw past your masquerade, that the rules about family coming first were a castle in the air as well. God, I still blame myself for not trusting him. He warned me so many times, but I never listened until it was too late. I could have prevented a lot of damage. But I learned my lesson, in contrast to _you_, John," Dean speaks furiously, bitterness flooding his voice. He is still fighting the regret of not realizing it sooner, for not seeing through the man he spent most of his life with, for not trusting Sam. Dean always knew Sam was better reading people. Sam could read Dean like an open book, and he could read John just as well.

"Family always came first for me. That is why I left!" John shouts. Dean just shakes his head.

"I still don't get it why we couldn't simply come with you, John. You went out of this fairly unscathed, too. So what was it? Not just a lead on the d-man, right? I knew that there was more to this story. I couldn't put my finger on it, though. So now I am asking you, what was it for real?" Dean threatens. That is the question he has to ask for both himself and Sam. They tried to find an answer to that for so long, they deserve the truth.

"It was a lead of the… the _thing_. I had tracked him down to a small area in Salvation, Iowa. But that bastard blew up my plan. I only got another lead after torturing a fellow of his and now I am tailing him again, but with no success yet. I only gathered much more valuable information so that I am readier the next time," John grumbles. Dean has to smirk at that briefly. He knows that John is having a hard time admitting that he is still running the same circles he did before he left. He was never good at admitting mistakes, but that is a big one, and Dean knows that John would bite his own tongue off in embarrassment.

"And you couldn't take us with?" Dean grimaces. They had similar hunts before. They dealt with demons before, on several occasions.

"No," John shakes his head.

"Because?" Dean frowns.

"Because," John shrugs.

"John, you better answer me right now! I'm done playing around!" Dean snarls.

"You try to threaten me?" John shoots back with furious eyes himself.

"Yeah, thought it would be great fun to change roles after all this time, John. So you tell me now what it was. After all, you want to see Sam, right?" Dean smirks maliciously.

"Yeah, of course," John grimaces.

"Well, that won't happen unless you tell me the whole damn story," Dean speaks mockingly. John cringes at that. He never thought that his son would blackmail him about seeing Sam.

"What? You can't do that! He's… he's my _son_!" John exclaims, sounding totally pathetic to Dean.

"Yeah, and so am I, but that doesn't matter. Just because he is your son doesn't mean you have any right to see him. Actually, since you are in that jolly facility now, you don't have most of your rights, and about seeing your son… says nothing in the laws, sorry about that, John," Dean retorts.

"He came here with you to see me, or am I wrong? You would take that chance away from him?" John shoots back, trying to convince Dean. He can still play the blame-game with the oldest. He would take Sam's chances of facing their father away from him, and Dean would have to live with that. Maybe John can work it that way.

"You don't know him, John, or me. If you think you can still screw with me, then you are badly mistaken. Those times are long, _long_ over," Dean huffs.

"You can't be serious, Dean!" John exclaims.

"Yes, I am! I can take Sam with me and drive off. You'd never see our faces again, hell, you wouldn't even see Sam's face just once. Sam wouldn't mind. He's a good little brother. If I told him I had enough of you and that I had to leave, he wouldn't hesitate to join coz that's what family's for, even if _you_ don't seem to know. Because he loves me and cares for me," Dean says with an air of mocking nonchalance. "But _you_ want to see him. So spill, John! This is your time to confess all your sins."

He stands for a moment. John realizes he won't get his way, so he has to tell the story, even if he doesn't like it. He sighs and motions at Dean to sit back down. Dean does with harsh movements, not breaking the eye contact just once.

"Alright, alright… just… it will take a while. So hold on. I want to see Sam," John begins, still gesticulating to calm Dean.

"Well, then you better get started," Dean retorts, crossing his arms over his chest one again.

"Okay… I… We all know the thing had to do with your mother's death, but it must also have involved Sam, too, because… it was _his_ nursery after all. The thing appeared in _that_ room, Mary just walked in on him. If he had targeted your mother alone, then he would have appeared in our room, not Sam's. I did a lot of research over the past years. After Salvation I learned that the thing was there to mess with Sam, for whatever reason. Some sources suggested it was to simply kill him, others said it was just a psychotic tick of this thing and he had something going on with children in nurseries and mothers at the ceiling, and then there were very faint voices talking about feeding blood to young children to make them part of his own, for some sort of plan, and those voices I heard even _before_ Salvation, years ago. But back then I was too dense to realize that this might be the real deal. I mean, it would fit into the story, it would explain why the thing showed up at your brother's crib instead of our bed that night. That's why the thing showed by _Sam's_ nursery, that's why he killed your mom. He wanted something with Sam all this time," John explains mysteriously.

"Are you _serious_?! You don't wanna tell me that Sammy was… is…," Dean gapes.

"It might be he has demonic blood in him, or something else. I don't know what happened and it might as well have been that Mary interrupted the thing soon enough, but I had to make sure that… you know…," John grimaces uncomfortably.

"You had to make sure for _what_? That Sam isn't turned into… into one of _them_?!" Dean exclaims disbelieving. That is worse than anything he ever imagined.

"No, I mean… _yeah_, kinda. I needed to know to be sure I could find a cure in case, Dean. If that's true, I had to save him from becoming something he isn't… And that is why I didn't want Sam to come along. I didn't want to burden him with that. It might have triggered something within him, possibly with terrifying consequences. He might have done something we would have to pay the price for. I couldn't let that happen, Dean. The further Sam was away from the thing, the better, the safer he was from becoming something… he isn't…," John speaks, his face a straight line. He seemingly waits for Dean to nod his approval to tell him that this was the right choice, but instead Dean glares at him, fury in place of guilt or understanding, "Oh fuck you, John Winchester! Fuck you! _Fuck you_! How can you possibly even consider that Sam… oh, never mind! Just screw you, John, for daring to _think_ that!"

He narrows his eyes at the older man, "But you know… a few things make sense now. Sam told me once, about you meeting that fellow hunter of yours. Sammy was about thirteen when he heard the damned conversation. That dude dared to talk about Sam like some sort of monster. You knew back then already, didn't you? You had that fucked-up thought inside that insane head of yours by then already, right…? _Watch him_, he said, eh? _Watch that brat of yours if you can help it somehow_ – sounds any familiar to you? _Watch it carefully._ And you _agreed_, John. You agreed to _watch_ Sam, your son, your baby boy, your family, as if he was some sort of ticking time bomb, some sort of thing, one of the things we hunt. Watch _IT_, not _him_, _it_. Even then you regarded Sam more of an object that a son, your son in the flesh! Argh! I can't believe you ever doubted Sammy that way. You simply should have told yourself that this didn't happen, that Sam never was the reason, and simply should have gone after that thing, without ever wasting a second of a thought on it!" Dean yells.

"You seriously say that I should have left out the possibility Sam might become a threat to himself or his family? Dean, I had to prepare for that. I couldn't just live with that lie. And can you? Can you seriously keep on telling yourself that all those things are just coincidences? Dean, I taught you better than that," John argues with blaming eyes.

"You taught me a _shit_! I can shoot a bucket from thirty feet away, I am fluent in Latin, yeah, you did one hell of a job at that, John, applause for that. But there are so many things you didn't teach me, and hell, I am _so_ glad you didn't because then I would be just as screwed as you are. Thank God I learned how to bathe Sammy by myself, what to do if he didn't sleep well, or after another nightmare, what to do if he was having a cold or running a fever, or when he missed his dad, how to keep him occupied without any kinds of toys because we didn't have many, or so that he would take his medicine. I couldn't be gladder that I never let you in on that and did it my way because that guaranteed you didn't sacrifice your youngest to the harvest gods on a misty night while I was asleep. To even _think_ of your son as such is unforgivable and utmost pitiful," Dean fumes with a death-glare.

"Oh, you're being too dramatic, Dean," John exclaims.

"_Dramatic_?! Someone seemingly has to be dramatic because you care that little for anything outside your own damned bubble that is filled with revenge and foolishness alone! And now you pull _that_ on tops. As if things weren't bad enough already," Dean shouts.

"I get that you are pissed and everything, Dean, but…," John tries, but he is interrupted by Dean, "What's really pissing me off is your density, John! Sam understood that as well. He once said that you always regarded him a threat. And that's true. He was a threat to _you_ because he saw right through you. He knew that you had such stupid ideas, that you thought of him that low. And now you tell me that… that you had to leave your family to get confirmation that your youngest son isn't the Antichrist?! I could have told you, John. You didn't have to put us through that to know. You're just stupid, totally dense not to realize fortune handed to you on a golden plate," Dean yells.

"You two always meant the world to me. I would die for the both of you, Dean," John growls.

"Yeah, you did a great deal of showing that by taking off," Dean rolls his eyes.

"It was for the best for you!" John argues.

"_The best_? Are you kidding me? You call _that_ the best option?" Dean blinks at the older man, but then stops himself. "You'll see for yourself when Sam comes in. I can only repeat it. He's changed a lot. Of the original Sam isn't much left. You took a lot of it away by leaving us. Sam did those changes for _you_, John. He wanted to please you because he, even though he knew you were such a bastard, still found the strength to love you. He wanted to be a perfect hunter for _your_ sake, for _my_ sake. And back then, I admit, I didn't see the first signs, and I stepped in too late."

Dean shakes his head, his airways constricting, "The process had already started. But what you still regard as a great thing, the new Sam, the great hunter, the born killer, that is a Sam without emotion. He doesn't realize when he is hurt. He even forgets his own freakin' birthday, ever since you left. You should see his face when I give him his present every damned year. I mean, he's never looked more surprised about it than he does now, but just because it really is the last thing on his mind, because it is actually something others celebrate. He shares a drink with me every night so that he can push the hurtful visions and nightmares into the back of his mind and sleep through nothingness thanks to the alcohol because he can't put up with his own feelings. He doesn't tell me about his dreams. Though he used to. His knife-throwing skills are at best now, better than mine, bull's-eyes the damned target almost every time, but he doesn't read anymore. His book-bag is long gone. The only thing he reads is hunting books, and they _suck._ Even now he tries to please you, _you_, John Winchester, by making stupid folders with possible new gigs. He hands them to me and I praise him for them because I am the only one to ever give him credit for it, even if I hate it because he still spends most of the night doing these coz he is too damn afraid of falling asleep sometimes. He takes cold showers, _always_. We don't pull pranks, at least he doesn't anymore. The last time he was out with a girl he actually liked… I don't even remember it. He pays for a night with a hooker once in a while, but I really think he just does it to reassure me in some sick way and maybe to satisfy some human needs, but not coz he enjoys it, I can tell… I cannot talk to him like I used to."

Dean has to try hard not to cry as he carries on, "He is always distant and it only happens rarely that I see hope in his eyes, and that I only see when he is thinking about the past we two share, the few happy memories he has, and you are not part of them, John. Most of the things Sam remembers about you are the stoic face of a man who always found pleasure in threatening and teasing him, terrorizing him with orders and rules and training and punishment and ongoing accusations for things Sam never should have been asked for. And I can't blame him. Or do you call it a happy memory about your father that your birthday present was a hunt in a nearby town that almost got you killed and then your father is only cursing at you for messing up? Yeah, guess what, John, Sam was not impressed with that. It was his freakin' _fourteenth_ birthday, God. I don't remember the last time he's honestly laughed because of a joke or because of _anything_. He just huffs or giggles when he's had one drink too much, but he never laughed like he did before you left, never again. He's running every fuckin' morning before I wake up, when it's still dark outside, and then he returns with breakfast when sun is shining brightly, _always_."

Dean grits his teeth, "Yeah, Sam turned out a fine bloody hunter with no mercy, _you_ would be impressed. That new edge he got… he is rather violent on the hunts now, not that he finds any kind of pleasure in it. I know he still hates hunting, but he is cold, he barely speaks on or after the gig. I always have the feeling that he is hiding all his rage with well-punctuated kicks and punches. Oh, you would certainly be impressed that he is no longer fluent in Latin alone, like me, but also learned the dead languages of extinct tribes, and he is fluent at all of them, old Greek is also part of the game and it slips from his tongue like oil. Helped us a great deal when we had to put up with a Greek goddess, and that was a bitch, I tell you, he knows many, really, _many_ rituals by heart now, for the witches, for ancient tribes. Yeah, you would be _so_ proud, John, but…,"

John's eyes are blank with something Dean would actually consider shock, but there is still no guilt in his eyes. Dean sighs before he carries on in a loud voice, "But that all reminds me that _you_ killed that other Sam. _You_ killed the Sam who spent his nights awake under the covers to read '_Don Quixote',_ or the Sam who loved to lie in the grass and watch the clouds drifting away, or the Sam who was so intelligent that he got straight A+'s in every subject, the Sam who would come up with the desperately needed conclusion for a gig – after neither one of us figured in _days_, who would wake me up early just to tell me '_good morning'_ and give me a hug when he was still small, the Sam who loved to eat stupid salad instead of real foods, or the one who complained about the hunts because he wanted to see his friends instead, who wouldn't tell you about his class trip because he knew the answer and didn't want to bother you with his stupid school, even if he simply would have loved to go there, or the Sam who looked up to the both of us from his crib as if he had a million questions in his mind and was just missing the words, the Sam who had torn knees after playing soccer, with that victorious smile on his face, or the Sam who could read at the age of four, already the long and complicated words because we didn't have many kid-books so that I made him read my Motor's Magazine instead, who sold his toy truck so that he could buy you a birthday present – that you didn't care for even a bit, or the Sam who was one sick dog after catching pneumonia on a hunt and the only thing he could think about was that you lost your precious knife in the bog, when you pulled him out, or the Sam who would walk between the two of us as he made his first steps, the Sam who helped to carry your sorry ass out of the woods after a hunt gone wrong, or the Sam who would tell us everything about what happened on his school day, the Sam who had that flicker in his eyes, that fire, that childish innocence, the hope, the Sam who got us all the needed information on a gig because with his puppy-eyes he could make witnesses do almost anything for him, the Sam who could make you forget the entire world for a moment, the Sam who would pull pranks on me, the Sam who… the Sam who was my little Sammy."

He bites his lower lips against the tears blurring his vision, but he carries on in a strong voice, "That Sammy is almost dead now, because of you. I am responsible, too. But you wanted this change so badly and showed Sam your respect for doing it that no matter how many times I told him that I wanted him to be the person _he_ wanted to be, that was the only way Sam saw. And then… then you _left_. You left him behind, after he finally had the feeling that he was getting closer to you, had finally found a way to make you and me happy. You turn his back on him and what happens?"

Dean takes a huge gulp of air. He was rushing through most of the speech and he has to bite back tears as he recalls all the images of his baby brother when he still was himself, "Well, I tell you what happened after you took off, John, since you are _burning_ to hear about _how_ _we were doing_! Sam _grieved_! He grieved his lost father, as if you had passed away – and at some point I really had wished for that! Sam cried his heart out the day it became clear you wouldn't come back. As Bobby always said, he hypnotized objects, staring at his shoes, the carpet, the walls. He couldn't hold eye contact with me for at least three weeks, and it took him another month until he could look Bobby in the eye. Sam sobbed _every_ damn night, plagued by nightmares and he always had the words '_Don't leave me, dad'_ on his lips. And it took me more than a little convincing to ease him back to sleep and tell him hundreds of times that _I_ wouldn't leave him. He turned in on himself that I was _that_ close from losing him to your stupidity, too, John."

He shakes his head sadly, "It was our bond and love that held us together in the end, what held me together. You said back when you told me about your plans that I had to keep Sam grounded. In the end it was the other way around. Sam kept _me_ grounded. He was there for me. The worst was that Sam wasn't the stoic Sam back then. He wasn't all emotionless, he was _full_ of them, from head to toe. He drowned in them. Suddenly he was my little Sammy again and what happens on the first occasion he shows? He gets hurt so badly that till today he is suffering from the wounds he endured."

John looks even more shocked and now there is the first sign of grief and remorse in his dark eyes.

"He still bites his lower lip when he's nervous, but only when conversation turns your course he bites it so hard that it bleeds. You are the only one to trigger that, John, you can be _so_ proud of yourself. He still struggles to look at your journal. I usually do it because his muscles go rigid only upon the sight when we have to read it for the next gig. Sam's afraid of you, has been in a while, even before you left. It just became so clear after you took off," Dean grimaces, but then sighs, "Sam still calls you dad though, you know that? I think it's funny because I know he shares my opinion about you. I am not sure whether he hates you… because the great thing about Sam is that in all those years is that he still doesn't truly hate _anyone_. He still sees the good in people, probably the good in you, too. He never bore me a grudge for not telling him about your plans, never held it against me in an argument. He cares about me, a lot. He is the best partner I have, ever had, and will ever have, even without Sammy's nature. I still know how to love my baby brother because deep inside he's still there, and on some rare occasion I am able to see him again and those are the best moments in my crappy life. And I would trade my soul to get that Sammy back."

John is unable to say anything. Pathetic, Dean thinks to himself, so he simply carries on, "And now you come, John. You, the man who gave life to Sammy, my little brother, your youngest son, my mother's precious little boy, and guess what? With your _loving_ teaching you managed to destroy that innocent boy and made him a _robot_, a shell of himself. I don't know if there is a way to reverse it and I am working on it, but… that is the result of _your_ work, the bitter rotten fruit of your efforts. So have them all. I don't want them. I learned my lesson and I am making up for my mistakes every single day to maybe get Sam back to his former self a bit. I try to make up for it by giving my best at being a good brother for him, to be there for him, and he appreciates that."

John just stares at him, his mind seemingly disconnected from the rest of his body.

"And the reason I tell you all this is because you should know what you have done to Sammy and me. You should know what you made us go through because your grief over mum still got the better of you, even gets it now! Your head is so full with the thing that you don't see us two, never did," Dean snarls, but then narrows his eyes at him with a victorious smile, "You know what, John? Sam's graduation speech? The one you never got to hear? The one you joked about all this time? He's written it just for _me_. He delivered that speech and told every freakin' person in the gym how much he loved me. That Sam was so full of heart and soul that I couldn't believe it myself – and you still think that Sam could ever have turned into something else? Really, shame on you, John. And I tell you what, he shined that day, sparkled with spirit, but of course you weren't there that day to see that. And you should have seen him that day because he, after all the crap you put him through even before that, asked me shortly before the ceremony if you were gonna come or not. He knew the answer, but it just showed that he wanted you there. He loved you, John, probably still does in some sick way, but he does. I don't know how many resources he has left, but tell you what? Sam is fading away and he is still using those resources, for _you_, too. He is so full of love that he still doesn't hate the man who has put him through the shit and tossed him into the next roadside ditch. Sam is still so much of a better man you could ever be, John. We, your sons, and Sam especially, _we_ made the greatest sacrifices for this family. We made compromises and helped each other to put the pieces you left back together. And such a great person… you actually doubt him? You think Sam might turn into some psycho? You are one poor bastard if you don't get it how wrong you are."

Dean wanted to tell John exactly that in all those years. It's like finally relieving the pressure that was built up inside of him for so long, it leaves his chest so he can finally breathe again.

"And I swear to God, I am not going to allow you to destroy Sam another time. Now he is with me, now he is fine, better off than he could ever be with you around. I give him the freedom so that he can be the way he wants to be, even if it painful at times, but I still didn't lose faith that he will return to being my Sammy one day. I give him the love a _father_ should feel for his son because Sam never had the luxury. His dad sucked at that job. I clap his shoulder, praise him, comfort him when he allows it, I patch him up, I tease, joke with him, share my beer with him, I tuck him in when he's passed out on his bed, do all those things you either should have done or did, but not in the way it was supposed to be for a father. I always was Sam a better father than you were, John, could ever be," Dean laughs drily. Even if he was Sam's big brother, Dean had grown up to be a father in some other way, a _loving_ father. He had learned his lesson, in contrast to John. Dean is a better person now because Sam gave him the chance to be. His love for Sam made him a better person.

"You know? When I came here I was kinda afraid of facing you. Even if I never told Sam, _he_ said it, but I didn't coz I wanted to keep up a strong face for his sake. And you know why I was afraid, John? Because I thought you'd still have power over me. I thought you would pull me right back in. I was really afraid of that because it worked on me for so long, but now that I see you… in that jumpsuit, with the handcuffs, a pitiful picture of a once strong and tall Marine, I can only laugh about it! That I even had that fear inside of me for just a second. You got no longer any kind of power over us. You're just a tiny man who has lived in the past for too long to realize the greatness of what was in front of him all the while. The man you're now is just… _laughable_, a joke, and I can only pity you. Sam's been right about that again, _of course_, he's _always_ right about those things," Dean softly chuckles towards the end. Sam had been right about so many things, things Dean wasn't even aware of by the time it came to terms.

"You know, I could have given you far greater hell about this, punched you, all the _fun stuff _you taught us, but Sam said I shouldn't do what I would regret later. I don't regret telling you and I don't regret that I came here because this situation just now made me realize that by sticking with Sam I was right. And I am fed up with you, John Winchester. I've had it up to here with you! So once I knock on the door to let Sam in, you'll behave yourself. If you pull something stupid, I will do something I might regret later. But Sam is the world to me and if you dare to hurt him, I'll rip your guts out and feed them to the dogs. You got that all? Or do you need guidance through that? Because then I would like to laugh really hard because we didn't either, so suck it up, John! _You_ suck it up now! You! _You_!" Dean points his finger at him, but then almost laughs out hysterically, "Man, that is just great. You have no longer power over me, or Sam. We are in charge now. You won't make us run laps anymore, extra push-ups, none of it. Once we leave this place _you'll_ be the only one regretting this coz we'll pay the money that's needed. I am sure your lawyer will get your head out of the sling and then you are free man again, but the only question that will be on your mind will be that of us two, about what you tossed away, the good fortune that you kicked it in the ass, now that it came back at you... and you don't get a piece of that pie. We are done with you, John Winchester. And you got no place in the world Sam and I created for ourselves. We are off better without you. It's a clean cut, a line between you and the rest of the family, and you are no longer welcomed in that circle."

Dean smiles victoriously. This was pure satisfaction for him. He wanted to tell John that for all those years

"Dean… I…," John stutters, his eyes watery, his mimic weary.

"Yeah, guessed you'd be all _philosophical_ now, but I guess it's about time I let Sam in. He's probably one nervous bundle, since we are taking for so long," Dean smirks, but then turns to his father more sternly, "And you remember my words, John. You pull something stupid, I kill you. Watch me, really, you taught us to do that. It might backfire on you now," Dean threatens as he gets up.

"Alright, alright, I…," John gulps, trying to gather himself and brace himself for what is going to come. Dean is already standing up, after having pushed the button, and waits for the officer to pick him up. And Dean can't help himself when he is finally standing, he lets a sigh of relief and smiles to himself. It was so easy to do it. He feels as though he was weightless for a moment. It is as if a heavy cloak was just removed from his shoulders, finally granting him space to breathe and move. Dean could finally tell John all the things that he wanted to tell him for so long now and he is more than relieved because he finally feels… free…


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking with me and my story! And thanks for the overly nice feedback, I very much appreciate it. Anyway, here goes the next chapter which I hope you'll enjoy ;)Reviews are always welcome!  
Thanks ;)

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_**Year 1**_

"I'm full, thanks for the meal, Uncle Bobby, tasted great," Sam speaks as he pushes the plate away from him.

"Well, thanks for the compliment, Ace, but I'd believe ya little more if ya ate more than a bat does," Bobby smirks. Sam blushes a little at that, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

"Why bats, Bobby? They suck your blood, and even Sam doesn't," Dean grins.

"Well, vampire bats do," Sam says weakly. The other two pick their ears at that. Sam speaking a word that wasn't necessary with Bobby around, and in general, too… that is _drastic_ improvement.

"Yeah?" Dean questions. He has to hold the conversation alive. It's a first flicker of hope that needs to be kept alive by any means if that includes Sam getting out of that hole he is stuck in ever since... that day.

"Yeah, well, the common bat species feed off of insects, fruit, small animals, and such things, I mean, keep in mind how small they actually are. The vampire bat lives in America, sure, but not in the US for the most part. They spread across Mexico, Brazil, Chile, and Argentina, but not in our area, so _you_ are in no danger meeting a bat that will actually try to suck your blood, Dean. I mean, the vampire bat, sometimes, likes to feed of humans as well, but only in the areas they are actually native to. That they suck blood from humans till they are dry is only something the movie industry is using for their advantage to… you know, sell the '_Dracula'_-story… even if that has other origins, you know…"

"And what would that be?" Dean asks eagerly. He has to keep him talking, has to, has to.

"'Vlad the Impaler' is said to be one of Bram Stoker's main inspirations for his fictional Dracula, if I remember correctly. Born in Transylvania, Vlad III Dracula of Wallachia whose main reign was between 1456 and 1462 is said to have murdered something around 40 000 to 100 000 European civilians – political rivals, criminals, or anyone who was said to be 'useless to humanity'. What gave him the byname of 'the Impaler' finds its origins in his way of killing them. His fave method was to impale them on sharp poles, all over his front yard, you know, some have gnomes, others have pink flamingos... he had impaled people in front of his porch… The name 'Dracula' is derived from a secret fraternal order of knights by name _Order of the Dragon_, founded by a guy by name Sigismund of Luxembourg – dude's been the king of Hungary, Croatia and Bohemia, and Holy Roman Emperor, so came around quite a bit. And that is where we come back to our polite little 'Impaler'. His father, Vlad II Dracul, was admitted to the order and later. Once he ruled over the Wallachia, all coins had the dragon symbol. Dracula means 'Son of Dracul' – namely Vlad III, even if it is still argued at some point. And he _certainly_ was no vamp…," Sam says, his voice, sadly, so lazy almost that it seems as though he'd just drop his head on the table any second. That has been the state of affairs ever since the day. Sam just seems so caught up in his emotions and pure dread that it pulls him down physically just here as well.

"Anything else?" Dean keeps asking.

"Well... then there was this Lady, who was it again…? Oh, yeah, Countess Elizabeth Báthory de Escsed, from Hungary I think. She became known as the '_Blood Countess'_ or '_Blood Queen'. _She was accused of having tortured and killed girls, some people say it's been about 650 victims… even if other sources are saying it's been less. She wasn't tried or convicted coz she was noble, in contrast to her obedient little fellas, but she landed in prison, where she remained bricked in a set of rooms till she died eventually. Later on she was said to have bathed in the blood of virgins to keep her youth… uhm… thought that would be the key to immortal beauty, that kinda shit… which added up to the story of thinking of her as a vamp… in court the charges included such things as burning or mutilation of hands, faces and… the _down-under_… biting flesh off the faces, which actually comes pretty close to real vamp-behavior, sexual abuse, freezing the victims to death or doing surgery on them… kinda Frankenstein-theme, but well… I'm drifting off…," Sam almost mumbles, not meeting anyone's gaze, but Bobby and Dean really see the good in having Sam talk at least about the topics he used to enjoy musing about. The older brother knows that Sam is one walking encyclopedia of weird knowledge, and he used to bitch about it all the while, but at this moment, Dean could cry out in joy that this actually helps to break away some of the ice Sam seems to be stuck in.

"So okay, vampires exist as animals for one, and they actually suck blood, well, that's reassuring," Dean smirks. "And history proves it... everything's drenched in blood."

"Yeah? Then ya take care of them bat bitches in my attic?" Bobby asks with a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Hell no! I ain't touching those nasty things! A bird that looks like an ugly dog is nothing I enjoy getting cozy with!" Dean exclaims, dramatically shuddering at the thought. He really has something against bats… they are like flying rats and if there is something he truly hates, then it is those damned rats that like to run over his shoes in whatever vacant building they have to investigate.

"Well, that hooker back in Santa Fé kinda looked like one, you know, her nose looked like a beak and she had the mouth of a bulldog," Sam suddenly says and _yeah,_ it was almost a smirk right there.

"Hey, I liked her for her character," Dean exclaims.

"Sure, coz a hooker is well-known for her philosophical view on the world…," Sam rolls his eyes.

"She wasn't that stupid! And she really had a nice personality!" Dean shoots back.

"Sure, and that she had melons in front of her chest that she could use to knock gangsters out had really nothing to do with it," Sam says sarcastically.

"She had a… big heart," Dean argues, though he is short before cracking up laughing.

"Yeah, that big that she ended up having two… one in either knocker," Sam rolls his eyes again. And this time Dean really cracks up laughing. Bobby silently grins to himself and even Sam has a slight smile on his lips.

"Okay, okay, I admit, she wasn't the brightest light, but, c'mon… she had her qualities," Dean snickers.

"Yeah, you keep on telling yourself, Dean," Sam sighs as he gets up, gathering the empty plates from the three. He maneuvers to the sink, but he sways a little in the motion.

"Whoa. Sam, you okay there?" Dean frowns.

"What? Yeah, sure, just tripped," Sam assures, turning back around and allowing water to wash over the dishes as he starts the cleaning. Dean and Bobby shoot glances at one another and both get the message right away.

"Well, I'll leave ya two alone. I still gotta get the groceries. See ya in a bit," Bobby says as he gets up and leaves the room. Sam goes on with scrubbing the dishes and glasses before he puts them aside to dry them. As he wants to grab a towel, he suddenly grasps the metal sink tightly, knuckles turning white, again swaying more than a bit.

"Sammy, you sure you're alright?" Dean asks even more concerned, this time standing up.

"Yeah, yeah, really. I…," Sam tries to keep Dean at a distance, but before he can do something about it, the older brother is right beside him. He always had a talent for that.

"Yeah, coz you definitely don't look like it," Dean grumbles.

"Very nice, Dean," Sam retorts.

"Sam, I am being serious," Dean argues.

"Well, so am I," Sam shoots back, but when he gestures at Dean in his aggravated way, he has to hold on to the sink even tighter, closing his eyes for a moment.

"You might wanna sit down?" Dean asks, even though both know it's more of an order.

"I'm fine, Dean. Stop hovering," Sam retorts, continuing with slowly drying the glasses.

"Sam…," Dean sighs.

"See? Already finished, not a big deal," Sam retorts.

"Take a seat, _now_," Dean orders.

"Ugh," Sam grumbles as he walks over to his seat, and even if he tries to keep a strong face, he still sways on the short way from the sink to the table. Dean doesn't even waste another second to grab a can of coke from the fridge to plant right in front of his younger sibling as he takes a seat himself, opposite Sam's to be able to look him right in the eye.

"Drink," Dean demands. Sam grimaces once, but swallows almost half of it without another word because he knows he could just as well slam his head against the wall and he would have more luck breaking through than he would have in convincing his older brother of the opposite.

"Sam, what's wrong now, for real?" Dean sighs.

"What's not _right_ is the more appropriate question at that point, don't you think?" Sam exhales.

"Yeah, yeah, I know… I mean _beside_ that… health-wise, you get me? That you are swaying from just cleaning three dishes is not so common, unless you are really not feeling well," Dean argues, his voice full of concern for the younger sibling.

"Well, I am not exactly great," Sam rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, but… you might consider that you eating so little since… that day… isn't helping any?" Dean tries again.

"My stomach just feels like it's going to flip upside-down when I barely catch sight of food, I can't change it, sorry," Sam grimaces, though it's obvious that the younger brother means it just the way he says it. Sam knows very well that his body needs water and food to work, but if you feel like throwing up all the time, then you simply lose your appetite and the no longer logic is making the calls, but your stomach.

"You don't have to apologize for that and I understand that, but… it ain't healthy," Dean sighs.

"I know that, you really don't have to give me the talk on that one, Dean. I mean, I know it's rarely occurring to you, but I don't have the stomach of a cow and I can't just eat through the feeling of hurling all over the floor," Sam argues, fairly at a loss.

"Okay, okay, I get that. I get that. You're right, but… Sam, now for real. I can't do many things for you now, but the thing I can take care of is this, your health. If you get sick on tops of everything… you…," the older brother grimaces, but then looks up to the ceiling, before he carries on with even more concern flooding his voice, "No, I can't take that, like seriously. I don't know what to do if you get sick on tops of everything, Sam."

To him that is the one thing to lean on to these days: Sammy may not be alright, not emotionally or at all, but at least his health was okay so far. If that is gone now, too… Dean wouldn't know what to do anymore. The older just needs something to rebuild their house upon, or what's left of the ruins John bequeathed to them.

"It's honestly not my intention to hurt you in any way, Dean," Sam replies.

"I know that, Sam. Hell, other circumstances and all this wouldn't be much of a big deal. I would just tell you the hell to eat, or just shove it down your throat in a major cat fight, but with… with… with John leaving us behind… now all's changed. Now even not eating properly is an issue. You know, we have to look after ourselves even more from now on. We have to be damn careful coz… coz now John is not available to do anything about it when it's getting really tough or when we got no clue. We have to figure out for ourselves now. And if there is a way to protect you, I do it, even if it means to bother you about your eating habits all the while," Dean says in a soft voice.

"Okay… I guess I get that…," Sam sighs, though he is unable to hide a soft smile, "… and… thanks for the concern."

"Just doing my job, little brother. I am there to watch out for you," Dean smirks. And he will always. _Always._

"That's good to know," Sam says. There are no words to describe just how much relief it is for Sam to know at least two people with him through all this mess. After all that's happened in the last couple of days, all pillars he believed in were torn away from him, forcefully ripped away. And the teenager is still trying to figure out which ones still stand amid the ruins. However, now his resolution was renewed that at least Dean's pillar won't waver, no matter how hard the storm may try to make him falter.

"Oh, so just for the record. If you don't eat properly from now on, or at least try, then I am so going to get a funnel down your throat and feed you that way," Dean says in a gruff voice, though a rather soft message of brotherly concern and worry comes with the tone.

"Alright, I'll have to arrange myself with that," Sam shrugs, offering a soft grin himself.

"Good," Dean smiles happily.

"Good," Sam rolls his eyes, sipping some more of his coke before flashing a smile at him. Dean smirks back, patting the younger sibling on the shoulder.

It's far from perfect, but it's a start for Dean. Sam smiled for the first time in a long time, honestly smiled. And isn't that already worth some vampire trivia and a chick flick moment?

For this fleeting moment, they are... good.


End file.
